


Tales from the Vault

by Colorofboombaby



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Additional characters will be added - Freeform, Multi, Sex, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 108
Words: 40,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorofboombaby/pseuds/Colorofboombaby
Summary: New Vegas is a veritable powder keg of political tension. House, the Legion and the NCR are all biting at the bit to take control of the Dam and Strip both. All it takes is a spark, and the whole world goes up in flames.The way Doc figured it, no matter what craziness that courier went and got himself into, he'd just have to make sure he and his town stayed way the heck out of it.





	1. Vates Nuntiat

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon the rough appearance, as this is 1, my first Ao3 publication and 2, my NaNoWriMo novel. After November's end, this will be edited and made to be presentable. During November, be warned it will be messy as hell. 
> 
> Current rating at mature, may be increased depending how themes are handled.

* * *

**THIS FLESH KNOWS IT WILL**

**PERISH, WHETHER IT WISHES**

**OR** **NO. BUT NOT YET.**

* * *

 


	2. Promiscae Fortunae

Doc Mitchell had seen a fair bit of craziness in his time in the wastes, and he'd thought he'd seen it all when Victor near about busted in his door trying to fit his bulky Securitron frame through with a limp and bloodied body held in his arms.

The poor fool the robot had carried in had lost half his blood on top of half his brains; someone had beaten him within an inch of his life and tried to finish the job with two bullets. Thankfully for Doc's patient, whoever it was was a lousy shot. All the same, as a medical professional, he knew that by treating the stranger (the man's few personal effects were surprisingly unhelpful in giving him an indication of name or next of kin) he was only humoring Victor. He always did have a soft spot for the robot, though, so perhaps it weren't too bad. 

After the third day, however, he knew it was time to give up the ghost and let Victor know the bad news. There just was too much wrong with the poor sod to make a recovery, and even if by some miracle he did wake up, he'd be brain damaged for the rest of his life, reliant on the goodwill of others -- which unfortunately was a limited commodity in the Mojave wasteland.

And then the fool had to go and wake up.

Not just wake up, but try to sit up too. Obviously, Doc would have his hands full with this one.

"Easy there," he said, reaching out to keep his patient supine. "You been out cold a couple days now."

The stranger lying on the cot made an inarticulate groaning sound that was likely full of expletives. Doc tactfully ignored it.

"Just take it nice and slow, alright?"

Obeying, Doc's patient carefully sat up, though as his bruised ribs jostled with the movement he winced and carefully cupped the injury. "Fuck," he moaned. "Anyone get the plate on that Deathclaw?"

While he set about checking his patient's pupils Doc tried to assess whether that was a non-sequitur or just his particular brand of crazy humor. The oculomotor and optic nerves were just fine, which more than slightly surprised him. In fact, he was so surprised he forced aside his good sense to satisfy his curiosity. "Let's see what the damage is." With that, Doc helped his patient to stand and directed him through a number of tests to evaluate his muscular degradation, mental acuity, physical endurance and other important attributes. It took three attempts before Doc finally accepted the results given.

"Well, it's no wonder you survived," he said at last. He tossed the man's SPECIAL report to the desk. "You're built solid as an oak."

"Good thing too." His grin was lopsided, fresh scarring pulling awkwardly at the expression. "I'm no stranger to shallow ditches."

"Glad to see those bullets didn't affect your sense of humor none," he deadpanned. "To be fair, you seem to be alright, but that doesn't mean you ain't nuttier than a bighorner dropping."

As he stood to follow Doc out of the room, he asked, "Are they particularly nutty?"

Doc spared his patient a long-suffering glance. Obviously he'd never had to be around bighorner crap.

"Right, fine, I get it." The stranger sat down heavily on the couch, spreading his legs out and draping his arms across the back, as if on some personal mission to take up as much space as humanly possible. "You gonna get to it, or can I get some shut eye before you send me back out into that big bad world?"

A headache nestled itself helpfully behind his right eye. "I'm gonna say a word and I want you to say the first word that comes to mind." His patient gave a thumbs-up. Doc started with, "Dog."

"Cat." The stranger answered with words that shot from his mouth like a bullet from an NCR Ranger's barrel.

It was... Disconcerting. Doc had to take a few sips of water to wet his throat before he could continue. "House."

"Shelter."

"Night."

"Silencer."

"Bandit."

"Swiss cheese."

"Light."

"Dark."

"Mother."

"Human shield."

Doc froze.

His patient burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Oh hell," he wheezed between chuckles. "I'm sorry, I really am, but God, doc, you gave me a clean bill of health and I've lasted this long. That's got to count for something, right?" Heartbeat normalizing, Doc Mitchell just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, but before he could say another word, the stranger's voice dropped. "Besides. I've already wasted a good three days of your time and we both know you can't afford to waste time."

Idly, Doc tried to determine whether that was a comment about the currently volatile and dangerous political clime of the Mojave, or just a mockery of his age.

"So, uh, if you could give me my clothes back," his patient said, "I'll be on my way. Besides, I gotta find out who tried to waste me."

This time, Doc chuffed with laughter and walked his patient to the door. "Alright, come on." He took the man's belongings, the scant few he had, from the bookshelf by the door where he'd stowed them. "Hope you don't mind, but I had to go through your stuff. Was hopin' to find a name--"

"But all you found was an order to deliver a chip." Gone so quickly was the man's jocular affect that Doc had to do a double take. "Hand it over."

With a half mumbled affirmative, Doc handed over the torn merc outfit and a heavily modded .223 pistol. "Gotta say, you might think you're all ready to go on through the desert but you might wanna have a chat with Sunny Smiles. She'll help point you in the right direction."

The man reached up and pawed at his facial hair absently. "Sure. That's probably a good idea. Got a straight edge though? This thing's been bugging me since I woke up."

"Sure thing, stretch," Doc said as he led him to the washroom. He hoped that with his back to him, the man couldn't tell that he had only just realized he still didn't know the man's name.

Judging by the other man's amused snort, he could and did notice, but instead of commenting immediately set about lathering up in front of the mirror. "I'll tell you my name once you fess up your own first," the man said. "How's that? Fair?"

"Fair enough. My name's Doc Mitchell."

"Sixx."

"Six." Doc stared at the courier, waiting for the punch line.

The man calmly continued trimming his goatee. "Yep," he said. "Two X's too."

A misspelt number. He'd expect a child to pull that sort of Brahmin shit, but apparently this "Sixx" was full of surprises. "Can't say that's the name I would've picked for you," he deadpanned. "But welcome to Goodsprings."

Sixx wiped off the shaving knife. "You know, Doc, you're alright. Thanks for patching me up."

"I'd say it was a far bit more than just 'patching up'," Doc said.

"Yeah," Sixx caught Doc's gaze in the mirror like a viper. "So who did that to me anyway? Got any clue?"

Now Doc really began to question just how much this Sixx fellow remembered, and just how he was able to go from friendly to threatening in no time at all.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "Victor-- that's the securitron that dug you up-- might know more. Maybe Trudy's heard something. Just ask around."

Satisfied with that response, or at least not displeased, Sixx washed off the remaining shaving cream, pat down his neck and chin, and strode confidently to the door. "Here's where we part ways, doc. Hope you don't mind my saying I hope I don't ever have to see you again."

Doc said, "Not at all." He didn't mention that he was equally hopeful and instead just watched the man stroll down the hill of his front lawn toward the center of town. He just couldn't shake the thought that everything was about to blow up in his face. Shivering despite the sweltering heat, Doc shut his door and turned his back to it.

  
The way Doc figured it, no matter what craziness that courier went and got himself into, he'd just have to make sure he and his town stayed way the heck out of it. 


	3. Stultus Intrat

The sun bore down harshly on Lucky's shoulders, sweat glistening on flesh turned red and blistered from too long in its rays. Wiping his forehead, he propped himself up against the fence to the bighorner pen. For the moment, his attention was focused solely on the figure emerging from Doc's place and making his way toward Victor. The stranger and the securitron discussed something, but with the distance Lucky could hardly even begin to eavesdrop with any reliability. He noted the stranger's behavior instead: the controlled movements that gave the impression of a coiled snake, the poise and posture of a man confident in his abilities. The stranger was going to be at the heart of something big, Lucky could tell just by looking at him. Behind him, a bighorner lowed indignantly over being ignored and broke him of his observation. When he looked back, Doc's patient had finished his discussion with Victor and was headed toward the Prospector's saloon. With an impish smile, Lucky vaulted over the fence to catch up with him.

"Hey!" he called out to the other man. "You're up and moving!"

The stranger did not match Lucky's expectations in the slightest. Lucky was expecting a powerfully built man with grizzled features and skin turned leathery by sun exposure. The man before him was of an average height, to begin with, and his body was lean and defined as opposed to bulky with powerful muscles. His lips were marred with fresh scars, but his eyes were a clear, honest blue, the sort one might expect to find on a child, and his goatee was trimmed to immaculate standard.

"Huh," the stranger said. "Look at that. Now who are you, and why so interested?"

"I'm Conrado Isaías Javier de Márquez y Mária de Sanchez del Torre, but everyone calls me Lucky, and Doc made it out that you were, like, dead for sure."

Absently, the man ran his fingers over the scars across his lips, tracing over the angry red flesh. "Did he now?" He chuckled. "Well, I'm not dead. You have any clue who put that bullet in my head?"

"There were two bullets, actually," Lucky said. "And you never told me your name."

"Sixx. Kid, what's your interest in me?"

Lucky smiled broadly. "What's my interest? Just look at you! In less than four days you managed to recover from an attack that would leave anyone else dead and you're trying to hunt down your attackers! Right? You don't even know how boring this place gets."

"So I'm entertaining."

The smile fell off his face. "Okay, when you put it like that it sounds bad," he admitted. "What I mean is that you're like a legend in the making and I want to see how this turns out."

With a soft grunt, Sixx dropped his hands to his waist and set his gaze on the horizon. "Tell you what, kid," he said. "You know where I can find someone by the name of Sunny Smiles?"

"Oh, Sunny left earlier. She hunts geckos." Lucky wasn't so stupid as to reach out for him, but he did beckon the older man to follow him as he started walking toward the saloon. "But she always comes back to the Prospector's for a drink before she heads home so you can wait for her here."

As soon as he pushed the door open, the stench of liquor and stale air hit him and the sounds of a brewing fight set his nerves on edge.

Cobb, the good for nothing leader of the Powder Gangers, stood far too close to Trudy for Lucky's comfort. "I'm done being nice," the gangster warned, his tone a threatening growl. "If you don't hand over Ringo soon, I'm gonna get my friends and we're gonna raze this town to the ground, got it?"

"We'll keep that in mind," she returned icily. Lucky's grin widened as he noticed Sixx watching the scene carefully. "Now if you're not going to buy anything, get out."

Cobb turned on his heel and rammed right into Sixx.

Flustered maybe, the escaped convict snapped, "Watch where the hell you're going!"

"Take a hike," Lucky hissed venomously.

Sixx stood still, unmoving, and met Cobb's gaze evenly. In that moment, Lucky could see how both men were sizing each other up, like two Yao Guai. This close, Sixx could probably notice how dilated Cobb's pupils were, or if not that then the sickly sheen of sweat on his dark skin that dampened his navy blue Powder Ganger outfit. However, neither man reacted, and Lucky swallowed thickly. After what felt like ages, the stalemate ended with Sixx stepping to the side and allowing Cobb to pass. Lucky released his held breath, unsure whether it was anxiety or excitement that had kept him from breathing in the first place.

"What was that about?" Sixx asked Lucky.

"A little bit before you wound up here, this trader guy named Ringo came running, saying that his entire caravan had been attacked and he only just managed to escape with his life."

The older man made a thoughtful noise before turning abruptly to Trudy. "What's keeping you from killing him yourself?"

"Who, Cobb?"

Lucky couldn't tell if it was intentional or simply convenient timing, but Trudy turned away and walked behind the bar, starting to clean each dirty glass methodically.

"That's just not in our nature," she answered. "Cobb might be scum, but we don't murder."

"Good. Where can I find Ringo?"

"Oh! I know where he is!"

Both Sixx and Trudy looked over to Lucky, but the older woman's mouth was quirked in a decidedly amused smile. Sixx, however, just looked curious.

"Come on, he's up at the old abandoned gas station. I'll show you. He probably won't shoot at you but, hey, better safe than sorry right? I mean, you just got rid of two bullets. No need to go and get shot full of more. Doc'd probably have a fit."

Then, to Lucky's surprise, Sixx turned his attention to Trudy. "Who’s responsible for this kid?” he demanded.

“Hey, jerk,” Lucky gestured grandly to himself to lend his words more credence. “I’m an adult.”

Trudy piped up, “He’s seventeen.”

Traitor, he thought venomously.

Sixx chuckled, ruffled Lucky’s hair and said, “Alright champ. Let’s go and see what we can do. Who knows, maybe Ringo’s skipped town while we shot the shit.”

  
Knowing that trying to tame his curly hair once more would be an exercise in futility, Lucky sighed and just started leading Sixx to the gas station.

"You come back for a good meal, so we can get properly acquainted!" Trudy called after them.

While it would be convenient if Ringo had fled, Lucky knew the man was still too scared to step foot outside, let alone attempt to escape the Powder Ganger’s iron sights.

As they walked up the hill, Lucky kept an eye on Sixx. Part of him felt bad manipulating him like this, but he suspected that Sixx was well aware of his manipulations.

Sixx whistled the first few notes of Civilization before he swung the door open.

"Who the hell are you?" Ringo demanded, his gun trained dead center on Sixx's chest. "Lucky. Who's this guy?"

"If you're gonna shoot, you better not miss," Sixx growled. His hand trailed to the pistol at his hip.

"Would the both of you just stop?" Lucky groaned. "Ringo, this is Sixx. Sixx, this is Ringo. Nobody is shooting anybody."

"Why'd you bring him, Lucky?"

"I--"

"Simple," Sixx interrupted. "The kid wants to see you safely on your way, the town wants the guys gunning after you gone, and I figure you want to get back to wherever you came from."

Ringo didn't move a muscle. His thin lips pursed in concentration and his chocolate brown eyes darkened with distrust. Finally, he swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing, and lowered his weapon. "Okay," he said hesitantly. "You got a plan?"

Lucky couldn't think of anything short of going out and killing Joe Cobb themselves and he didn't think that would do much besides piss the Powder Gangers off.

Lucky glanced over to Sixx, and it was like seeing him really smile for the first time.


	4. Venena Purgabis

Compared to the humid heat of Zion that would cling to him like a second skin, the Mojave was oppressively hot, with dry heat that baked his lungs and throat. Jarod downed another swig of water, swishing the crisp liquid around in his mouth to wash out the sand and grit.

“Don’t drink it all on us,” Natalie called out. “Pass it over, please.”

 Jarod turned around to face her and tossed the canteen at her. “Don’t _you_ drink it all on us, Ms. Crowne. This last canteen has to last us until we get back to Freeside.”

He expected a comment from Colten, perhaps about how they weren’t that far from the city limits, but the guard was still engrossed in the little black book given as a gift by the Burned Man. _That decided it_ , he thought, and sidled up next to Colten. The other mercenary didn’t even look up from the book.

“Now how is it you haven’t fallen flat on your face yet?” Jarod asked.

Gruffly, Colten answered, “I’m smarter than you.”

“Yeah yeah. What’s so great about this junk?” Abruptly he swiped it out of Colt’s hands and started reading. “‘Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest’.” (Joshua 1:9)

Colten tackled him to the ground. Sand filling his mouth and his free arm bent behind his back, Jarod went limp. “Jeez, man,” he groused as Colten pried the book out of his hands. “Touchy much?”

“Don’t touch my stuff,” the merc growled, but didn’t begrudge Jarod a helping hand back to his feet.

Instead of answering, he brushed himself off and elbowed Colten playfully. Before the trip to Utah, he and the other guard had been uneasy acquaintances at best and at each other’s throats at worst. Losing the majority of their crew to the White Legs had done well in forging a bond between them. Forcing the bastards from Zion did the rest to turn the two into unconventional friends, even if after two months Jarod still didn’t know for sure if Colten was a chick or not. He assumed female, but frankly, whatever Colten was, he knew he trusted her with his life. But he had started to worry whether there would be a New Vegas to return to if they lingered longer, and as such had focused on that instead, pressuring the ambivalent Natalie and overwhelmingly reluctant Colten to agree to return at another time.

Now, he could see the Lucky 38 lit up in the distance like a beacon, a gauzy white blur on the horizon with the rest of the gaudy Strip decked out in neon colors resting beneath its zenith. He breathed deeply and smiled. At least the world hadn’t gone completely to shit while they had been away.

“Come on,” Colten teased. “You were the one who wanted to leave. Unless you forgot your one-of-a-kind plasma cannon back at base.”

“Oh please Mr. Masterson can we go back for it?” He laughed, however morbid. His thoughts, briefly, turned to Jed Masterson, the original leader of their expedition, but he shoved them aside, along with the memory of watching Jed’s chest explode with shotgun fire. Like little firecrackers, holes had bloomed in his flesh.

“Poor Jed,” Natalie said by means of contributing, and Jarod clung to her voice to drag himself away from his own mind. “But, Daniel promised to help out Happy Trails.”

“That’s true!” He added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we can open up a whole other trade route with the help of the Sorrows and Dead Horses.”

“Still say one of us should’ve stayed,” Colten grumbled.

“You, right?” Jared snorted. “I’m sure you’d just love being all alone with your _boyfriend_ \--” He ducked, squawking instinctively as a busted coffee mug, the remains of this morning’s black coffee, flew over his head. Undeterred, he sang, “Colten and Joshy, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Then you could really know each other in a Biblical sense,” Natalie joined in with a broad grin.

Colten groaned theatrically and buried her face in the book of scripture. Appropriately, that was the moment Jared’s hopes were finally realized, the sand shifting from under Colten’s boots and sending her to the ground in a pile of limbs and leather armor.

Unashamed, Jared cackled gleefully as he walked by, right up until Colten’s hand shot out and trapped his ankle, sending him toppling to the ground as well. Sand getting in some uncomfortable places, he whined, “Way to go, jerk.”

“Do I need to separate you two?” Nat asked blandly.

“No, Ms. Crowne,” Jared said at the same time Colten said, “No ma’am.”

“Good,” she huffed. “Don’t kill each other yet. There’s barely two miles more before we hit the strip.”

The two wastelanders tangled on the dirt shared a look before scrambling to their feet and hastening to chase after their third companion.

Soon enough, all three settled back into a smooth rhythm, the very same that they’d had as they walked to and back from Zion. It was the dull, monotonous march of exhaustion and a little bit of smoldering hope. It was also uniquely theirs.

After another mile, Jared’s feet were beyond sore. Idly he wondered if he could convince Colten to carry him, but then an ungodly buzzing distracted him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Colten spat. Jarod frowned and glanced over, ready to ask what the hell Colten found wrong now, when he saw it.

The lurid orange of the cazadores’ wings blurred, holding aloft black, glossy bodies brandishing vicious stingers.

At once, they broke into a dead run.

Ignoring his blistered feet, Jared sprinted forward. The glow of the strip was far, far away and the glinting stinger far, far too close for comfort.

His breathing sawing up and down his dry throat, he forced himself ever faster. He didn’t dare tear his gaze from the strip—Colten and Ms. Crowne could have fallen behind and been stung to death for all he knew. Tears blurred his vision at the very thought, but he blinked them away hastily.

Pain stabbed, white hot, into his shoulder. His feet tangled for only a second, but he surged forward despite, righting himself without stopping. His pack, now bereft a strap, threatened to fall off. After another hundred or so feet, the buzzing grew quieter, more distant, and without really meaning to, he slowly came to a stumbling halt, pressing against the metal of Freeside’s North gate.

“We made it,” he rasped, the words rough against his abused throat. A quick glance to his left and right assuaged any concerns he’d had that Colten and Ms. Crowne had fallen behind. He let out a sigh of relief that caught in his chest like a lit match and slumped against the gate. His pack slid off his shoulder to the ground with a solid but oddly distant thump. The strength to his knees melted away with the clarity of his vision. Everything felt slow, but his body crackled like firecrackers as he fell to his knees.

He couldn’t quite fit the pieces together. His tongue and brain felt thick and clogged. Splotches and swirls of his vision faded out to blackness only for others to appear much too bright to be real.

It was a relief to fall unconscious.


	5. Indomitus Ioculator

The more Sixx talked, outlining with grand sweeping gestures and a constant smirk twisting his lips, the more Lucky thought that, hey, they could actually swing this whole 'take back the town' thing. It was amazing, actually, because up until a few minutes ago he was, like the rest of town, silently hoping Ringo would sneak out under cover of night and take the Powder Gangers with him. 

"They're not gonna leave until they get what they want," Sixx said, "or until we boot them out ourselves."

"It better be more than us three. No offense, but you're a bighorner farmer," Ringo said, and Lucky tried not to bristle too obviously. "And you-- you're an unknown to be sure. Between us three, we'd be lucky to kill four of them. Maybe five."

"Which is why we'll get the town involved. More so than they've already been involved." Sixx gave Ringo a stern, but pitying look. He continued, "They were nice enough to give you a place to hide, but not to help you run. So, here we are."

Ringo frowned. "Yeah, 'here' you are. All talk but nothing to show. Sorry if that doesn't inspire all my confidence."

Sixx's smile was just that slightest bit too wide, too sharp, and Lucky shivered. "Then we'll go talk to Trudy now," Lucky suggested, before Sixx could say anything to warrant that vicious look to his eyes. "And we'll come back with supplies and willing fighters."

Ringo and Sixx shared brief glance between them, both challenging the other, before Sixx turned on his heel and started out the door. 

"Be ready," Sixx called over his shoulder. 

"We've got this handled," Lucky assured Dingo one last time as he hurried to follow Sixx. He didn't hear Ringo say anything, and he wasn't about to look back, but he thought the point had been made. 

Trotting to catch up, Lucky asked Sixx, "So, who're we rounding up first?"

"Trudy and her militia," he answered. "We need them ready and waiting for our signal. Who knows when Cobb will get impatient?"

On cue, Lucky looked over his shoulder, in the direction where he knew Cobb to be waiting with his buddies. Then, the two ducked inside the saloon, and the door closing blocked his sight. It still didn't keep a shiver from shaking him to his core. 

"As it is, the man's probably seen us go and speak with Ringo, so it's only a matter of time. A matter of when he can gather together his own men." Abruptly, he called out to Trudy, "Trudy, was it? I'd like a word."

Scowling at the fact he'd called out across the entire bar, Trudy set down the glass she was cleaning. "Yeah?" she asked. "There a need to draw everyone's attention while we talk?"

"Yes."

Lucky choked on a surprised laugh. From the look on Trudy's face, she was just as shocked as Lucky was. He found it reassuring that he wasn't the only one constantly caught offbalance around Sixx. 

"You've got a Powder Ganger problem," Sixx said, still too loudly to be ignored by the other patrons. "I've got a solution, provided you've got the guts."

"I may be able to rustle people up, but not for a suicide mission. You even got a plan?"

He laughed. Lucky hadn't been quite able to place what it was that Sixx sounded like when he laughed, but the closest he could come was a crow. A harsh burst of air followed by short sounds that sounded like he was choking on his own amusement. 

"'Course I do!" Sixx laughed. "Come on now, what do you take me for? Way I see it, you've got quite the blindspot built into this here saloon. Get some folks situated on the eastward (double check this, is it east or west?) side and we can get the jump on Cobb's gang once they reach the center of town."

"You intend on letting them get that far?"

The grin on Sixx's face was sharp enough to cut glass. "Some of them might. Some of them might even make it whole."

That got the attention of each and every person in the saloon. 

"Whole?" Trudy parroted, and even Lucky had to give Sixx a double take. "What do you mean 'whole'?"

"I mean, we've got explosives around here, don't we?" Impossibly, Sixx's grin grew broader and sharper. "And there's plenty of cover up on rooftops. Get some sharp shooters, some folks good with dynamite, and I don't see no reason at all we can't thin out the herd."

"You're crazy," Trudy said, but she was smiling and fighting back laughter. "That just might work."

"Course it just might. And it's us working together that's gonna make sure it will." Sixx started to turn to walk out, only to pause. Voice careful, lacking the velvet and enigmatic pitches and lows Lucky'd grown accustomed to, he asked, "I can count on your support, now can't I?"

Sixx didn't wait for an answer and so didn't Lucky neither. He was too busy following along, caught in Sixx's wake, like a tumbleweed in the wind. "Where next?" Lucky asked, breathless and trembling with excitement. 

"Well," Sixx drawled as he came to an abrupt stop, "seeing as we need some dynamite to blow those fuckers to kingdom come." His eyes, flinging like gunmetal, cut to Easy Pete in his rocking chair. 

The man tensed in his seat. "You know anything about explosives, son?" he demanded. "They ain't no toy or firecracker to be set off for them pretty colors or lights."

"I am well aware," Sixx hissed. "I've got a great deal of experience with blowing things up, enough to direct blast andenoygh to keep my limbs attached and my eyes functional."

Lucky swallowed thickly. The tension between them, between the resident expert and the drifter who'd been as good as dead a day ago, was thick enough he wasn't sure how he could still breathe, what with the way his threat and chest tightened. 

Then, Easy Pete chuckled. "Yep, you sure sound like you got a handle. I'll dig up my dynamite now, so as to be ready to-- how'd you put it? Blow them fuckers to kingdom come."

Quick like lightning, Sixx's earlier glare dissipated into the scorching midday air. Smiling easily, he stepped back as Pete levered himself out of his chair. 

"I'll get you the dynamite in an hour, tops."

"Don't be late, Petey," Sixx sing songed as he walked in the opposite direction. 

"Where next?"

"Where do you think? The good old Doc's. I'm good, but not that good. There's gonna be wounded, so it's best we warn him before hand, so he can be ready."

Lucky froze for a second, because even just thinking about the possibility of failure set his heart racing. It amazed him that Sixx could put aside his pride and acknowledge that his plans could go awry. He thawed quick enough though, and wasted no time in chasing Sixx up the hill to Doc Mitchell's place. 

When he not only caught up but passed Sixx, he took that as his cue to take the lead for the moment. Lucky knocked on Doc's door, loud enough to be heard but not so loud he got Doc riled up and worrying about some sort of emergency. 

It did the job. Soon enough (not very soon, what with Doc's bad knee) Doc opened the door. His gaze immediately fell on Sixx. "Don't tell me you already got hurt," he deadpanned. 

"Not yet," Sixx promised, laughing. "See, Doc, we're gonna be confronting the Powder Gangers--"

"An excellent idea, no doubt."

"-- and we'd like you to be available, in case, well, the worst happens and someone needs medical attention."

"That's smart," Doc said idly. "Letting the man who can save your life get ready before you go off and endanger it."

"Hey, I'm doing you the favour here," Sixx pointed out. "Those gangers are just gonna get bolder and bolder the longer they can camp out here without any sort of resistance from you folks."

Lucky could see the exact moment Doc gave in, when he realized Sixx made a damn good point. Inwardly, he smiled triumphantly. Outwardly, he waited for Doc to finally say out loud what was written all over his face. 

"Alright," he sighed. "It ain't no use trying to talk you out of this. Might as well be ready to clean up whatever mess you make."

"Thanks Doc," Lucky said, when it became obvious that Sixx was content to let his gratitude remain tacit. 

"You're getting yourself mixed up in this too, ain't you?"

Unable to help himself, Lucky puffed up his chest pridefully. "Damn right," he said. "This town is my home too."

"Have you spoken with Eduardo, or Sara?"

That puffed up posturing deflated like a bad joke. "I mean," he stammered. "Not exactly yes?"

"Hold up a minute, kiddo." Doc gave a long suffering sigh, and then also a small med kit after disappearing inside. By the weight of it, it contained all he could spare. "Don't go getting yourself killed. That goes for the both of you." He fixed Sixx with a stern glare. "I meant what I said. Next time I got to patch up your face, I might just stick your ear where it don't belong."

While Lucky thought that was quite the effective, if unusual threat, and tightened his grip on the med kit, Sixx just laughed and waved off Doc's words. "You said not to get full of bullets no more," he pointed out. "They use dynamite."

This time, after the long suffering sigh Doc retreated into his house and didn't reemerge. 

"Now we've got to see a man about some armor," Sixx murmured. "You keep hold of those medical supplies, alright, kid?"

Eagerly nodding, Lucky situated the kit between his shoulders and followed Sixx to their next location. 

"Maybe we could have done this a bit more easily by going to Chet first," Lucky suggested idly as they walked up to the general goods store. 

Sixx laughed. The noise was impossibly harsher than usual. "This is all a show," he whispered lowly, so only Lucky could hear. "Cobb's got to be sweating bullets now. He knows we've got the people and the weapons and the medical supplies. And now he'll see us getting all the ammo and armor we need. His buddies can't come quick enough."

"So we're gonna force his hand then?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said evasively. Once he caught Chet's eye, he threw his arms out. "Chet! My good friend. We're leading a militia, and a militia is only as good as its armor."

"No," Chet snapped, crossing his arms. "No way, no how."

Less like a deathclaw and more like a night stalker, Sixx crept closer to Chet until the only thing between them was the grimy countertop and Sixx's own patience. "You make me sick," Sixx growled. "Your friends are going to be out there, whether you help them or not. Maybe a piece of armor or a little bit of ammo could mean the difference between celebrating and burying good friends and dear people."

With each word, Chet grew paler and paler still, until at last he stood transfixed like some sort of ghost. He swallowed, the saliva catching and bobbing in his throat, and licked his lips roughly. "We're just farmers," he rasped. "They're hardened criminals."

"Fine," Sixx snapped. "Let's let them have the town then. I'm sure they'll see a great need to pay for what they want from your store."

Sixx turned and headed to the door. Lucky stood where he was, watching the myriad of conflicting emotions cross Chet's face as he opened and closed his mouth, fighting like hell to find the words he wanted to say. 

He found his voice right as Sixx put his hand on the door. "Wait!" The exclamation was choked with desperation. He said softly, "I don't got much, but I'll give you what I got."

Only because he was that little bit closer could Lucky notice that sharp as knives smile on Sixx's face before he wiped it away, replacing it with a blander one. "Glad to hear it, Chettie," Sixx said chipperly, arms open and inviting. "Why'n't we see about getting everyone outfitted?"

Seeing that Chet wasn't about to say anything further, and Sixx had gotten what he wanted out of the man, Lucky decided to step in. "We'll send everyone fighting here to get their armor and whatever weapons you can spare," Lucky said. 

"You really got a bad habit, kid," Chet whispered, eyes darting between him and Sixx. Hesitantly, he reached down below the counter and pulled out a small box. "Just don't go getting yourself shot up, alright?"

As Chet tossed the box at him, Lucky caught it and hastily looked it over. .357 rounds. Without immediately realizing it, Lucky brought his free hand to rest on the magnum at his hip. 

Suddenly choked up for no good reason really, Lucky nodded his thanks and hastily escaped to follow after Sixx. 

Lucky distracted himself from the hard lump in his throat by thinking over their plan. They'd spoken to Trudy about getting people, Chet with supplies, Doc with his medical expertise, and Easy Pete about the dynamite. "We should head on back to Ringo, shouldn't we?"

Sixx kept his gaze locked dead ahead of him. Lucky fought a shiver when he realized that that was where Cobb and his goons lied in wait, just beyond those houses. "We got a couple things more to do. A bit more communication." Sixx laughed, "Geez, this must be why the NCR loves their goddamn radios so much." He jerked his head up the hill. "You go get our caravan friend. I'll go speak with the rest."

With a nod to show he understood, Lucky started jogging up to the gas station. 

Ringo had his hair all askew and his hand resting, albeit tremulously, on his pistol. "Why'd you have to go and run up here?" he demanded as soon as Lucky stepped foot inside. "I thought-- I thought--"

"Whoa, hey, calm down." Lucky hurriedly raised his hands up. Evenly, he said, "It's alright. You're gonna be okay. I was running to tell you that. We've got near about the whole damn town on your side."

The wild, panicked look to Ringo's eyes remained, but he seemed a bit more coherent the more Lucky explained. 

"See?" Lucky said softly. "We got this handled, amigo."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right." Ringo still looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, but he didn't look ready to jump out of his skin and blow off Lucky's head. He let out a shaky breath and started to relax, tension easing out of him. 

Of fucking course that was right when Sunny decided to barge on in. "The Powder Gangers are on their way!" she shouted.

"Are we ready?" Ringo demanded. "Are we even--"

"Yes," Lucky barked. "Now come on. Grab your gun. We've got some  _bastardos_ to kill."


	6. Abeunt Studia in Mores

Tracer Loyola, bounty hunter extraordinaire, sat hunched over a dead fire pit with a handful of pinyon nuts in his palm. He was a bit too close to Sloan, and therefore far far too close to the quarry, and the deathclaws that had overtaken the now defunct mining operation, to start a fire. He hunted down raiders and monsters wearing human flesh, and sometimes those who ate it like someone else would a Brahmin steak, but even he wasn't foolhardy enough to go deathclaw hunting. Not without a couple more men by his side and at least two machine guns. And grenades. Maybe a rocket launcher too.

So, fact was, he made due without a fire to protect him from the creeping cold as dusk fell, and he settled his achingly hollow stomach with pinyon nuts and a couple pieces of pre-war chocolate that had separated but was no less satisfying.

It had been a very long fourteen months he'd spent hunting down the twins known only as Valor and Noble. He couldn't think of less suitable pseudonyms for the terrible duo if he tried.

Apparently, Valor and Noble had hitched a ride with some Great Khans through deathclaw territory. They'd probably moved on by now, gone farther south, but as ever he followed. That was the odd thing that he'd noticed. They just kept moving south. Regardless of why, it made them easier to track, though of course he made sure to keep from getting cocksure.

Munching irritably, he grudgingly admitted that it took guts to go through as many hazards as the twins had. Hell, they'd gone through Marigold Station without caring about all the damnable fire ants. Actually, when it came to any of the underground tunnels or train stations or any location far too close to a supermutant camp for his tastes, the twins didn't seem to care one bit. Now, how much of that was actual bravery, he wondered, and how much of that was just that they didn't care if anyone lived or died, including themselves.

Night had completely fallen by the time Graver had finished his meal and, with a quick glance around and a brief moment spent erasing any sign of him ever being there, he stood up and moved on. It was the unfortunate result of the odd pace Valor and Noble set that he couldn't rest for a full night, or, hell, longer than a couple hours. Once more, he had to admit, however much it rankled to, that the twins were admirable in that respect. They stayed in one place for multiple days at a time for sure, but whenever he got too close they set a grueling pace and got way the hell out of dodge. He didn't think they stopped to rest at all whenever they ran from him, which, he admitted, no less grudgingly, that was a damn sight more than could be said for even him. He couldn't, and wouldn't, burn himself out like that. This was a battle of endurance, these fourteen months, and he would be damned if he was about to lose the trail because he pushed his body too hard for too long and ended up having to pay for it later. Tracer readjusted his pack, settling it between his shoulders, as he trudged on, the sun now almost completely set and the nighttime chill almost completely burrowed into his bones.

Times like this he wondered why the hell he had to leave Megaton. Sure, bounty hunting was a hell of a gig, and paid incredibly well when he managed to get the finger of those bastards he trailed, but it was exhausting work. Then again, Megaton was at once too small and too large. Too large thanks to his history with the town -- he couldn't walk two feet without running into someone who'd known him, known his folks, and the pitying looks had finally gotten to him. Honestly, if he had to deal with even Leo Stahl looking at him like that despite the drugged up haze to his eyes, he was gonna deck the man. So, he'd left, following in the footsteps that had killed his mother. Eventually, he'd even left the Capital wastes altogether-- in pursuit of Valor and Noble no less-- and he couldn't say he exactly regretted it. Not yet.

Life was simpler on the road than it was in Megaton, if possible. Here, it was simple: eat, sleep, move, following whatever clues he could find.

He should have been satisfied with the safety the town provided, that Simms enforced. But not really, the more he thought about it. It was too cramped. It was too loud, too quiet, all at once, inside the walls of the city. Why couldn't he stay? Because it was both too big for him and too small, he'd told Simms as he prepared to leave. He was Tracer Loyola, bounty hunter extraordinarie, son of Avalon Loyola, bounty hunter extraordinaire, and that meant that he would never stop moving forward and always would.

The soft crunch of gritty sand under softer, more animalistic paws drew him from his rumination, and he didn't immediately turn around. Not yet. He continued for a few feet more, but removed his rifle from across his back and held it in his hands. Any minute now, the coyotes would grow tired of following him and prepare to strike.

He quieted his own footsteps, slowing his pace, to listen. Three, maybe four, coyotes by the sound of it. He tightened his grip. Soon, he decided. They were impatient, their panting loud enough to hear now, and they would strike soon.

He was right.

Whirling around, he caught the leaping coyote upside the snout with the barrel of his rifle and brought the butt down, hard, on its skull with a resounding crack.

The other three followed shortly after. Two tried to flank him on either side. Firing a pot shot at the one to his right, he prepared to block the left. As it lunged, he kicked, hard, and sent the dog flying back. The fourth surged forward too, but he shot the downed coyote and then aimed at the immediate threat.

It got its mouth around the barrel, but he shoved it off and fired. The bullet buried into the sand. The dog attacked again. Teeth skid across his leather armor, tugging and tearing, before he could throw the beast off and blow its skull open.

He and the last coyote stood a few feet away, eyes locked. Panting, the dog growled, then lowered its head and tail and ran. With a soft sigh of relief, Tracer replaced the rifle to its rightful position on his back and started walking again.


	7. Merum Medellae

The Atomic Wrangler was your typical bar, Colten supposed. She'd been to better. She'd been to worse. Drunkards and gamblers filled it with smoke and the stench of alcohol, body odor and the faintly wistful tang of desperation and depression. As she drained the last dregs of scotch out of her bottle, she figured that she fit in just perfectly. The din and clang of the slots in the next room over couldn't block out Hadrian the Ghoul's caustic act and the two together couldn't entirely drown out the sounds of whips, moans and creaking bed springs from the rooms upstairs. She curled her lip, though not entirely out of disgust, and gave a little half snort to get the attention of the Garret twin behind the bar. The guy -- shit, what had he said his name was? -- gave her a calculating look.

What a moral bartender, she thought mirthlessly, making sure nobody got shit faced drunk. "'Nother scotch," she said. His gaze eased up when she didn't slur her words.

"You're drinking like you're either celebrating or trying to forget your worries," the guy next to her suddenly piped up. "And you don't exactly look too thrilled so I'll go with the second." To the Garret twin, he said, "I got this round."

He didn't say anything, just took the caps the stranger offered and passed back two bottles of scotch, one of which the stranger then offered to her.

Remembering her manners, she mumbled a thanks before snatching it out of his hand and starting in on it.

For a few minutes, they both drank in silence. Then, Colten broke her silence. "Colten," she said.

He glanced over to her, a questioning look to his eyes, but rolled with it. "Greyson."

She decided she liked him all the better. He was already in her good graces thanks to the free scotch, but this easy attitude bumped him up further.

"My best friend's laid up with the Followers," she said. She didn't exactly know why she felt like saying so, but she let the words come anyway. The sympathetic, but not pitying, wince Greyson gave her moved her to keep speaking. It came easy at least, as easy as drinking. "Cazadores."

"Damn overgrown hornets only exist to fuck shit up," Greyson stated bluntly.

Startled, but not entirely displeased, she laughed.

"Oh good, you still can laugh," he chuckled. "What's this friend's name?"

"Jarod."

He raised his bottle. She matched it, clinking the glass together. "To Jarod," he said.

They drank as one, and it didn't feel so lonely anymore.

"You two close friends?" he asked once they'd swallowed. "Or closer?"

Glad she'd already swallowed, she burst into laughter again. "Nah," she said. "Not like that. A good friend though. You know, we hated each other upon first meeting? I called him a shiftless layabout, he called me a hulking, thoughtless brute."

Greyson laughed with her.

"I went to deck him, but then he dodged and landed me flat on my ass." Her tone changed, softening with memory. "I nearly busted his ankle. He busted my nose. Jed had to pull us apart, kept telling us we'd forfeit our shares if we beat each other up. So, course we stopped. Mostly.

Kept tripping each other up though, and tossing crap at each other. I switched the water in his canteen with vodka once, he didn't actually seem to mind. That man could fucking drink."

She allowed herself to slump over the bar somewhat, matching the loose way Greyson sat on his stool.

"So he's got no excuse to die of some fucking cazadore poison," she snapped, suddenly incensed and not quite sure why. "I've watched the idiot drink enough to put most men into a coma. His liver's got to be inhuman. He'll pull through."

"Sounds like," Greyson said as she trailed off, "he's gonna kick this. He's got good friends to come back to."

"Shit! Yeah, Grey-- can I call you that?" When he nodded, she continued excitedly, "He plays a mean game of caravan. You play? Yeah, he can't die, I haven't beat him yet."

"I'm a pretty good caravan player myself," he noted. "We'll have to have a game once he's cleared by Dr. Farkas."

"Yeah!”

The door opened and, even drunk as they both were, they were wastelanders through and through and damn good at surviving, and so they both glanced over to see who entered. Mind, Colten didn’t go about it half as surreptitiously as Greyson did, but that was fine, she couldn’t have bothered, too excited to see her friend standing in the doorway.

That excitement gave way for something slick and cold, like an oil spill down her throat and into her stomach, as Natalie shuffled forward and sat down gingerly at the bar. She moved tenderly, holding herself together like she was broken glass inside.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Don’t you fucking tell me—Nat, don’t—”

“Whiskey, please,” Natalie said to the Garret twin. “Neat.”

Colten blustered as her friend ignored her. “Natalie, tell me he made it!”

Greyson reached out across the bar to place his hand on her arm. She froze at the contact and stared at Nat with wide eyes. The other woman took the glass from the Garret twin without a word, sniffed the liquor with dead eyes, and took a quick swallow, wincing at the burn. Natalie drank infrequently, and only watered down wine when she did. Slowly, Nat brought her glass and her forehead together, her back and neck bowing.

“He’s gone,” Natalie whispered. “He…”

That sick feeling in her stomach now completely edged out the warmth of alcohol. She chased it with the remainder of her bottle and tried to ignore the sound of Natalie succumbing to grief and letting her tears flow.

Her own eyes burned, but her chest, stomach and mouth burned even more.

To her shock and surprise, Greyson broke the pregnant silence. “To Jarod,” he said, solemnly raising up his bottle. Without raising her head, Natalie met his midair. Colten went to raise her now empty bottle, only to find that Garret twin had placed another in front of her and conveniently disappeared. Taking ahold of it, she joined her old friend and her new friend to toast Jarod’s memory.


	8. Nemo Enim est tam Senex

_Lucky shook slightly from lingering adrenaline as he peeked out from behind a shot up food crate. Chet would be pissed about that, even if it was an asinine worry at best. The Powder Gangers all lay dead, some more paste and skull shards than others. He tried not to look too closely at the corpses, thankful that dusk had fallen and plunged the world into deep blue shadows._

_But it was when he looked at Sixx that he rethought everything he knew about the man. Sixx stood with a straight back, a steady hold on his pistol, and a sickeningly large discoloration spreading across the side of his clothing. Then he remembered that neither he nor Sixx had bothered to get leather armor for themselves Sure, the thick fabric of a mercenary outfit offered some protection, but not nearly enough._

_"_ Mierda! _" Lucky cried, vaulting over the busted crate to Sixx’s side. "Are you okay?"_

_He wasn't a doctor, but up close it looked even worse, holes torn through the cheap fabric. The Med-x Sixx'd injected himself with earlier, needle marks along the insides of his wrists still an angry red, was probably the only reason he was still standing._

_"I'm fine," Sixx said, haltingly, as if his body was denying the very words._

_Then he dropped like a sack of rocks._

Lucky sat on the porch of Doc’s house, head hanging low and fingers twisting together ceaselessly. Just when he thought he’d gotten a grasp on his racing thoughts, his mind returned to that scene. It hit him, abruptly, that he could have gotten the entire town killed. Sixx was either a wastelander or a mercenary, but either way someone who knew how to handle himself in a fight. Ringo had been right. Goodsprings was full of farmers, not fighters, and he’d been a fool to try to take on the Powder Gangers, criminals, possibly murderers, armed to the teeth with enough dynamite to have a stranglehold on the train lines.

Sixx wasn’t the only one injured. The inside of Doc’s house was filled to bursting with the wounded. Trudy and Bruce had gotten shot. Dynamite, theirs or the Powder Gangers, had gone off too close to Fran and all but blown off his left leg. Maxie was laid up with a concussion at best, possible brain damage at worst. Lucky wasn’t a doctor. He was just a stupid kid that had dragged everyone he loved into a half-baked plan.

To top it all off, they found Sara’s gecko bitten corpse out by the wells. It was like losing his mom all over again. Eduardo hadn’t even been able to meet his eyes while he told him. Was he going to lose his surrogate parents the same way he lost his real parents?

He buried his head in his hands, fighting back the tears that brimmed in his eyes.

“Lucky.”

At the sound of Doc’s voice, Lucky jerked to his feet. “What’s the news, doc?” His voice was tight and strained by his tears, but he just counted it as a win he was able to speak past the lump in his throat.

He couldn’t understand the look Doc gave him, eyes tight and mouth twisted with some unknown emotion. It was obvious to him Doc was conflicted about something, but he couldn’t figure out anything other than that.

“You want to come on in, son?” Doc asked, instead of saying anything that matched or would explain that expression.

Still, he wasn’t about to give up the chance to see if Sixx, Maxie, Trudy and the rest were okay.

“How’s Fran?” he asked as he followed Doc through his house. “Were you able to help—”

He set a heavy hand on Lucky’s shoulder, cutting short his questions. They still sat on his tongue, but Doc’s hand was that much heavier.

“I think it best if you don’t ask about Fran,” he said gravely.

Lucky swallowed. “Okay. Then. Then Trudy. Maxie. Bruce?”

With each name, and each time Doc kept a stony silence, Lucky felt the weight of his guilt grow and twist deeper into his chest.

“Sixx,” he settled.

“I reckon nothing short of a deathclaw could keep that – that man down.”

Lucky ignored Doc’s obvious last minute word swap, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else he would have said, and his gaze landed on Sixx standing next to the couch.

“For the last time,” Doc huffed. “Would you at least sit down?”

Slurring slightly, Sixx scoffed, “I know my body, Doc. Why’n’t we just skip all this?”

“Because,” Doc said in his best ‘this is the fifteen time we’ve had this discussion’ voice, “you’ve got enough med-x in you I’m amazed you can feel your legs enough to stand.”

That did explain the glassy look to the wastelander’s eyes and the way he swayed slightly, as if caught in some breeze only he could feel.

“Go fuck yourself,” Sixx mumbled, right before noticing Lucky. “Oh, shit, you brought the kid. Dirty pool, old man. So. Looks like you avoided all the bullets.”

“You look terrible.” He really did, pale and washed out, eyes unfocused and blinking too rapidly and not enough in turns. Plus, he’d been stripped down to his pants and his entire was covered in pink tinged bandages.

The injured man frowned at him. “You flatterer.” To doc, he said, “Fine, go, doc, I’ll sit my ass down before I puke or something.”

In a show of good faith, Sixx did just that. A knock on the front door called Doc away. Lucky swallowed thickly and watched as the wastelander on the couch squirmed and huffed and wriggled in search of a comfortable position. Had he forgotten he was here?

“Stop staring, kid,” Sixx mumbled, contradicting that assumption. Obligingly, Lucky turned away, only to run smack into Eduardo.

He froze, not quite sure why he felt like he was caught in the act of something scandalous, but when the older man reached out for him, he followed obligingly without a word.

Outside the house turned medic, Eduardo said, “ _Chaval_ , your _papá_ would have wanted you to live your life the way you wanted. I want you to be happy too. _Ve por tu propio camino. Encontra su felicidad_.”

Lucky didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. A hard lump formed in his throat.

“If that means following this man,” Eduardo said, “then I won’t stand in the way. I promised your _papá_ to take care of you like you were my own son, and I--”

Sensing that he would just keep going in that same vein if he let him, Lucky interrupted, “ _Tú eres mi papá también._ ”

As he spoke, and that knot of nerves eased with each syllable, he realized that the words were years in coming. He rushed forward with the revelation and wrapped his papi in a crushing hug. “ _Muchas gracias por todo papi. Te quiero mucho._ ”

“ _Te amo con todo mi corazón, mi hijo._ ”

Lucky knew then he wouldn’t be coming back to Goodsprings, maybe ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any incorrect Spanish thrown in here. If anyone knows enough to correct me, please do.


	9. Omnia Rerum Principia Parva Sunt

Axel fiddled with an empty bottle of buffout, rolling the dented container between his shaking hands. Shit. He needed another dose of jet or med-x or mentats, or maybe thirty doses, and fast, but impossibly their stash had dwindled to nothing in short order. Maybe there was a handful of mentats or buffout left lying around, if he wanted to get on his knees for it, but he was shocked (though perhaps foolishly so) that it hadn’t lasted long. The hunger for a drug induced haze, or for the withdrawal induced haze to sharpen to superhuman levels, itched under his flesh, driving him to pace.

“Jesus fuck,” Screwdriver groaned. “Stop it with the fucking pacing before I break your legs.”

“Touch me and I rip your damn balls off and feed them to Sugar,” he snapped. “When the fuck are we gonna get more?”

“Hell if I know. Why don’t you go bother Steve and leave me alone?”

Steve. An unassuming name for the most blood thirsty (ex-)raider Axel had ever met. A man whose flesh was more scar tissue and needle marks than anything else and with a face bearing a lopsided grin and a calculating gaze, whose bloodstream was almost always laced with an unhealthy blend of buffout and psycho. And his name was Steve. Axel was still waiting for someone to let him in on the joke. Sure, Steve liked to claim he wouldn’t go back to raiding for all the buffout in the world, but Axel wasn’t so sure – hell, he’d done his fair share of some messed up shit for another hit of jet.

Axel glowered at Screwdriver, a show of dominance and machismo, before he left to seek out Steve.

After stepping over discarded beer bottles and emptied containers of various drugs, he found Steve in the cafeteria, nursing a bottle of whiskey and aggressively puffing on what had to be his twentieth cigarette. Axel hid his grimace. Steve only ever smoked like that when there weren’t drugs to pollute his system with, and if Steve had resorted to nicotine, then there definitely weren’t any chems in the entire place.

“So,” Axel drawled as he took the seat opposite his leader and snatched up a cigarette of his own. “When we gonna go and get something good? Running a bit dry around these parts. Unless you finally decided to go sober?” Nicotine bit pleasantly at the back of his throat.

Steve’s gaze was hard and calculating, and Axel only smiled as his heart rate momentarily spiked, but within a second, the edge disappeared from Steve’s gaze. “You’re telling me,” the ex-raider slurred. “But you know about him, right? That smug little bastard Three Dog wouldn’t shut up about for five fucking seconds?”

“I think I mighta heard about him once or twice. Think he was the one who figured out the purifier or something? Why, you want his autograph now? He offered. I’m sure it’d be worth a fortune by now.”

“Don’t get smart with me, fucker. That damn vaultie’d been a pain in my ass for way too long, so damn self-righteous, and now he’s just dropped off the face of the wasteland without even a fucking word. We’re gonna go rectify him.”

“Goodie,” he deadpanned. He knew better than to ask Steve how he planned to do anything, at this point, because Steve had an uncanny knack for making everything turn out okay in the end. “When?”

“I’m drinking this fucking swill. When the fuck you think?”

“I’ll get the fireworks then.”

Despite his foul mood, Steve grinned at Axel. “Damned straight. Bitch won’t even know what hit him.”

“Do you even know where to start looking?”

Both men startled at the new voice. It belonged to a willowy woman, her black hair shorn short, who walked into the room carrying a ball of matted fur and gangly limbs in her arms.

“Jesus fuck, Grace,” Steve cursed. “We need to put some fucking bells on you.”

Axel beckoned her closer before folding his hands. “The way you say that makes me think you’ve found something out. So, spill.”

She took the seat next to him and tousled the fur atop her cat’s head. “I’m not sure,” Grace admitted. “But I heard that Moira lady saying that he was on his way to New Vegas.”

A short silence stretched between the three, broken only when Grace’s cat squirmed and mewled petulantly to be let down.

Steve shook himself of his shock. “You mean like New Vegas New Vegas? Where that creepy Caesar salad fuck-up’s camped?”

“No, the other New Vegas,” Axel deadpanned. “Of course New Vegas, aka the godddam clusterfuck of NCR and Caesar’s ‘who’s dick is longer’ contest. No way am I touching that shit-storm with anything except a fucking frag.”

Grace shrugged her shoulders in forced nonchalance.

Biting back on an apology, Axel continued, “All I’m saying is keep me the fuck away from that. Last thing we need is to get mixed up in that shit.”

“Axel,” Steve barked. “We’re going to New Vegas.”

The young man winced and scratched at a healing needle mark. “Okay, okay, yeah, fine. I get it. But of fucking course that asswipe decided to go there. Fucking hero complex.”

To Grace, Steve said, “Go get Screwdriver, would you? We gotta be outta here in half an hour if we want to get anywhere before nightfall.”


	10. Noxia Poena Par Esto

The day of the lottery began like any other.

It ended with screams and bloodshed and the stink of burning rubber and burning flesh. It ended with Roger clutching his ticket tightly and watching in disgust as the people he grew up with allowed so called loved ones to die in their place.

It helped he didn't care for anyone in the town to start with. The mayor he found a sleazy, morally bankrupt hypocrite. Half the women were prudes and the other half were oversexed. Regardless of gender those his age held no respect for authority -- and, to be fair, Roger held no respect for the mayor himself either, but that was due to the mayor's moral failings -- and the adults thought they deserved respect simply for existing longer. Nipton was a place desperate for a cleansing.

They sold the skins of enemies and friends and family; they carved human flesh at the same tables they carved family dinner. Blood ran thick and foul through Nipton. The Legion had simply turned that from a mere metaphor to a stark reality.

He'd survived the lottery, but he wasn't about to walk away from the scene without thanking the men who'd wiped a hellhole off the map.

Approaching the man wearing the animal hat -- either of a coyote or perhaps a fox -- resulted in another man, with his machete ready to gut him, stepping forward from the ranks of Legion men.

Roger raised up his hands to show he meant no disrespect, inadvertently showing the congregation his lottery ticket.

"I simply want to thank you," he said.

The man bearing the machete twisted his lip. He was small, shorter than Roger, with a thin frame that didn't fill out the Legion armor the way the others' did, being musclebound and intimidating through sheer size and numbers. It said something however that he still managed to look down his nose at Roger despite the height difference.

He took the man's continued silence and stare as a question, mockingly asking what he had to be grateful to the Legion for. "Not for sparing my life," he clarified, because that seemed to be the most salient detail to articulate. "But rather... opening my eyes to pure justice. The wicked were tried and found lacking. Those who would just as soon stab a man in the back as help him have been eradicated with professionalism, objectivity and efficiency. It's... pure."

The man before him didn't change his stance, but something subtle shifted in his expression, different muscles twitching minutely around his eyes or lips. Roger took it as acceptance of his words. The lowered machete, also, he took as acceptance.

The man wearing the coyote came forward, brushing past the other man. "Tacitus," he purred. He had a voice like velvet, smooth and luxurious like old-world silk. Also like old world silk, which often grew rough since its exposure to the elements, it assured the man was equally capable of roughness. "Do not threaten the enlightened profligate so," the man chastised smoothly. To Roger, he said, "Tell me. We have murdered and crucified your friends and neighbors. And yet you thank us."

He didn't hide his contempt, sneering and dripping vitriol from his every word. "Nipton," he spat, "should have been destroyed ages ago."

"Interesting," he purred. "Why do you say that?"

"Because they were faithless," he snapped. "We promised shelter to anyone who paid enough caps, no matter their allegiance. We let our 'guests' sleep soundly as we ushered in their enemies to kill them in their beds. We knew no meaning of the word 'hospitality', only profits. Caps ruled morality here. And now, they burn for it."

"Well said," the legionary approved.

The man with the machete -- Tacitus -- smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing, like the edge of a blade.

"Go to the west," the man ordered. "Find the NCR Outpost. Spread word of the Legion's actions here, of the judgement brought upon Nipton, and the judgement coming to the NCR."

Pride swelled his chest and straightened his back. "I will," he promised.

"Your name, dissolute."

His name was a tie to this town. One he intended to sever completely. Roger Underhill was dead, along with the entirety of Nipton.

There was an old pre war myth about a beggar and a king. The beggar railed against the king, declaring the king's life easy and free of troubles. All the food he could eat, the wine he could drink, and any woman to bed he wished. The king agreed to trade lives, and they did. The beggar rejoiced, eager to enjoy feasts and guzzle wine and bed as many women as he wanted to.

Then, as he sat down for the feast, he noticed a sword hanging by a single strand over his head, and his ease disappeared. He demanded to know what the purpose of the sword was and to have it removed. The king, now penniless, smiled at the beggar and said, "That is the sword of Damocles, and it hangs forever over the king's head."

The beggar, unable to enjoy the feast, returned the king's title and rejoiced for the lack of danger, hanging heavy over his head.

"Damocles," he answered the man. "My name is Damocles."

The legionary didn't show any sign of understanding the meaning of the name, but Tacitus nodded his approval.

"Go then, Damocles, to the NCR Outpost. Tacitus will find you when you have completed your task. Ave, true to Caesar."

"Ave," he said, "true to Caesar." The words were clumsy on his tongue, unpracticed as he was speaking Latin, but the legionary didn't correct him. With that, Damocles left Nipton, headed west, while the legionaries headed east.

As he walked, he resisted the urge to glance back at the burning town. Directly before him sat the threshold to his new life. All that remained behind him was the smoldering, bloodied ruins and the corpse of Roger Underhill.

The NCR had come to New Vegas, looking to further their self-interest under the guise of a farce of democracy and a banner of corruption lead by monarchs in all but name. The NCR stood for nothing, yet claimed to stand to protect everyone and provide for all. Even if that were possible, the republic’s attempts would only foster a civilization – if you could call it that – of people who would latch onto the strong and sap the strength and vitality from it. Worse, democracy itself was a flawed practice, due to the nature of man being to subjugate others and to promote himself.

Caesar’s legion, even when deciding a moral question, remained steady in its judgement. It set standards and did not bend them for caps, for familiarity with the accused, for personal bias. All were not equal, but all were equally judged, from the Legate himself to the lowest persona non grata.

The Legion backed an man who provided a path to a true civilization, one that practiced what it preached, and practiced an ideology that Damocles could adopt himself without betraying himself and his ideals. A sacrifice of one’s identity was a minor price, a beneficial price, and one Damocles was more than willing to pay.


	11. Te Crees Muy Muy

Sitting prim and pretty at the kitchen table in the Bison Steve, Valor counted out her and her twin's earnings from the latest shipment of weapons. The varying currencies could be a bit aggravating to some, but she found the tedium of conversion to be soothing. Besides, it was a fact of life that without homogeneity across the wasteland, multiple currencies were to be expected.

One denarius was four caps, five NCR dollars equaled two caps, one aureus was one hundred caps and caps were caps. It all made perfect sense to her, as easy as breathing. Humming an old show tune under her breath, she licked her fingers to help separate two grimy NCR bills. By her notes, that particular payment was from the idiot who thought a flamer meant he was in charge. She smirked as she realized he'd over payed because he was, again, an idiot, and didn't pay enough attention. Pocketing the extra, she drew a smiley face next to his entry in her invoice log and moved on to the next.

So far, she and Noble had raked in the caps. Buying ammo and blast powder at a premium from the Gun Runners to sell them back to the escaped convicts from the NCR correctional facility had been a stroke of genius. She patted herself and her sister on the back for this latest scheme. At this rate, it would almost eclipse the time they bought a load of weapons from Shrapnel and Flak; they'd removed bits and pieces from the guns and sold them as spare parts, on top of selling the guns themselves. It had taken every bit of mechanical know-how between her and Noble to remove parts without completely destroying the integrity of the guns -- at least, not immediately.

By the time the fools had caught on to their little scheme, Valor and Noble had already hightailed it out of the Capital wasteland and started their next scheme. The gig they’d set up this time with the Gun Runners was similar, but with greater risks for less reward. It was also the best bet they had for the moment.

The captured deputy of Primm grunted as he shifted his place in search of a more comfortable position. She spared him a passing glance. “It’d be mighty kind of you to set me free,” he suggested. He’d tried to play her sympathies since his capture and no matter how icily she responded, he never caught on. After the second time she’d lost her temper, Valor had simply given up on giving the man any sort of explosive response. It was just not worth it, to see him so smug when she lost her composure due to his ministrations. It burned her up inside, like a wildfire.

Gathering the caps, Legion coins and NCR dollars together, she hummed sweetly, “Go soak your head, Bagel.”

“Miss, please,” he persisted. “I could make you a very happy woman if you’d only just loosen the binds on my hands.”

Valor had plenty of experience with dirty old men and unwelcome flirtations – yet another consequence of the world they lived in, was that sex was, like other carnal pleasures, desperately sought after -- and so she simply rolled her eyes. Every cap and coin secured in her bag, she stood up and leaned out the front door, looking for her sister.

She saw criminal after criminal, all varying degrees of inebriated, but not her twin.

“I can tell you where your brother—”

“ _Sister_ ,” Valor hissed, rounding on Deputy Beagel. “Call her my brother again and I’ll cut off your dick and feed it to you.”

“Understood, miss,” he squeaked. “My sincerest apologies to both you and your sister.”

“Be thankful I’m not slicing off your hands for saying it in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t dare say anything improper about your sister, I assure you.”

“Damn straight you won’t.” Satisfied she’d put the fear of God in Beagle, she turned to face him slightly. “Now, where is she?”

“I don’t know for certain where she is,” he prevaricated. “Just that she might possibly be, uh, upstairs.”

“Bullshit.” Valor punctuated the statement by closing the distance between them and brandishing her knife in his face. She’d just been upstairs collecting payment, and she wasn’t so stupid to believe Beagle. “Let’s try that again. We don’t need you alive, after all.”

“Did I say upstairs? My mistake. Miss Noble stepped outside a half hour or so ago to enjoy some fresh air.”

Valor gave Beagle a saccharine smile and knelt in front of him. “Thank you _so_ much, Deputy, you’ve been incredibly helpful.”

He stiffened, and she decided to have a little more fun with him. After all, it wasn’t often she got a man on his knees in nothing more than his pants and undershirt. Letting her breath blow across his skin, she traced the shell of his ear with her tongue and placed her left hand low on his waist while her right trailed up the deputy’s spine to come to rest on the nape of his neck.

“So very, very helpful,” she whispered huskily, crawling forward to press herself against him. With the way he was positioned on his knees, it was difficult, but not impossible. Smirking, she stared deep into his wide, lust dilated eyes. He had such pretty brown eyes, like mud but not as off-putting. His hands really were in the way, tied up the way they were, but she could feel his cock through the leather of his pants and the way he trembled and shivered with anticipation.

Like a hungry coyote, she caught his mouth with hers and bit down, hard on his lower lip. He hissed in satisfaction and licked a bead of blood off his mouth as she pulled away.

A question burned in his eyes, but then she shoved him back, pressing him against the mattress. As she jerked his hands up over his head by the knotted rope, she ground her hips against his, friction setting off sparks in her crotch, and leaned over to capture his mouth once more. He tasted like blood and lust, iron and sugar. After a couple seconds, his hips joined her rhythm, moving in sync.

Moving away from his lips, she moved methodically down his neck, licking up the tang of sweat.

“This would be,” Beagle panted, “much more enjoyable for all involved if you, hah, allowed me to disrobe.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” she purred, but couldn’t keep the rough rasp of lust from her voice. Drawing the flat of the blade down to the hollow of his throat, she slid it in under his clothing and tore through his shirt.

“Shit!” he cursed. “Ah, fuck, I wasn’t… Wasn’t expecting that.”

Valor paused briefly, locking gazes with him, but found them to be just as hungry as before.

“I never said it was an unpleasant surprise,” he said, and bucked his hips to prove his point.

Emboldened, she tore his shirt the rest of the way, cutting it open to expose his abs. She’d expected a bit of pudge to match his cowardly affect, but the muscles there were cut like diamond and glistened with sweat. She set the knife down behind her and relished the feel of his abdominals clenching and twitching under her hand.

“Let’s see what kind of heat you’re packing,” she said between pants, her breathing, like his, hot and heavy and wet. She slid his trousers down inch by inch and took him in hand once his cock sprang free.

Hot damn.

By the self satisfied smirk on his face, he knew just how big he was, so she didn’t mind that her gaze remained on his member, mesmerized. She gave him a few experimental pumps, feeling the weight and hardness. Her pussy ached and throbbed, hot and soaking her underwear.

Sounds of fighting from the entrance of the hotel forced her to look away.

“What the fuck is that about?” she growled.

“Nothing,” Beagle insisted. He gyrated his hips in a manner than made her mind and mouth water. Fuck, if he could do that bound, what could he do with a full range of motion?

Noble burst in, defeating her hopes to ride him quick and dirty before she had to leave. Gazing hungrily at his cock, she snatched up her knife and raced out of the Bison Steve like it was on fire.

“Fucking hell,” she barked at her twin. “You _so_ owe me. He was hung like a damn horse.”

“Later,” Noble promised as they fled Primm into the darkness, under cover of gunfire and screams. “I’ll find you a nice prostitute and you can ride him until he breaks. Until then, we keep moving. Got some do-gooders from out of town trying to bring ‘order’ back to this fucking place.”

“Fucking bastards couldn’t have waited ten fucking minutes?”

“Next time I’ll ask them politely instead of coming to warn you.”

“Fuck you, Noble.”

“Fuck you too, sis,” she shot back with an amused snort.

The two sisters ran, their weapons and caps and their lives secured for a little while longer.

As soon as there was more distance between them and their now defunct and overrun base of operations, Noble broke the silence that had fallen between them. “Now where to?”

“New Vegas,” Valor said. “Or at least Freeside. I hear that they’ve got this bar with a ghoul cowboy prostitute. And a sex bot!”

“You’re a sex bot.”

They laughed. The sound eclipsed that of dying criminals in the distance. Such was how it was meant to be.


	12. Ad Undas

The sound of a snapping rope and a loud curse woke Grace and her companions from sleep.

They’d noticed that they were being followed – or rather, she had noticed and made a few subtle comments to Steve who in turn made a few slightly less subtle orders to Axel for him to set up some sort of trap the next time they set up camp.

In an effort to avoid the worst the irradiated sun had to offer – namely heatstroke, dehydration and sunburn, the last of which Screwdriver had already unfortunately suffered – they had taken to travelling at night and sleeping during the day. It had also had the side effect of making it a bit more obvious to Grace that they were being followed. In the days directly following the change, whoever their follower was had gotten sloppy enough to miss covering their tracks completely.

Fact of the matter was, Axel’s trap had worked. She sprang out of her bedroll, accidentally elbowing Screwdriver in the stomach, and raced out to the mouth of the cave.

She and Axel stood there for a couple minutes to stare, dumbfounded. So this was their stalker?

“You caught a woman,” Grace mumbled.

“Fuck,” he chuckled, because what else could he do? “That’s some good bait.”

“Ah,” the woman made a soft, appraising noise and immediately locked eyes with Grace, like a viper sizing up its prey, or maybe more like a turret locking on to its target. “My dear, would you be so kind as to undo these binds?”

Grace lifted her eyebrow.

“Fair enough,” she sighed. “How about at least loosening them? I can’t feel my hands or my feet.”

“Your hands are the least of your concerns, piece of shit,” Screwdriver snapped as he approached. “What the fuck were you doing following us like that?”

The woman kept her gaze trained steadily on Grace. “Perhaps I saw a pretty flower and wanted to pick it.”

“Alright, way to be creepy as fuck,” Axel piped up. “The bindings stay on.”

So it seemed her men were back to their usual shtick of threatening everyone and everything that posed even the slightest risk to their way of life. It would be endearing if they didn’t do it constantly. Like overgrown, over-chemmed attack puppies. “You’re terrible,” she scolded.

“Oh, so we’ve got our stalker tied up. Good.” Steve glanced over as though he weren’t vested in the situation and couldn’t care less, but the gleam to his eyes betrayed his interest. He continued, “Let’s leave her here. I’m sure the damned dogs could do with another fucking meal.”

“Now surely someone as beautiful as yourself couldn’t possibly be so cruel,” she protested, eyes never leaving Grace’s. “A slow death, starved of the sight of you.”

Screwdriver stepped forward, his expression downright murderous.

“Grace,” she interrupted before the situation could escalate further.

As she expected, all eyes turned to hers, except for their capture’s, because she still hadn’t looked away.

“Let’s be civil,” Grace said. “My name, as I said, is Grace.”

“Marlene,” the woman purred, her voice husky. Grace wondered idly how someone strung upside down by their ankles and wrists could manage to retain any sort of sensuality and attractiveness. A blush crept up her cheeks but she quickly tamped it down by redirecting her attention.

She stared hard at her men in turn and allowed herself a slight smile as Axel, Steve and Screwdriver each gave in – first, Axel, who rolled his eyes and gave her a dismissive wave that they both knew was as good as an verbal affirmative. Steve and Screwdriver shared a glance between each other, obviously weighing the pros and cons to pissing off both Axel and Grace. Screwdriver didn’t stand a chance once Axel caved, because that meant he would have to deal with _two_ pissed and annoyed lovers. Steve, ever the leader and peacekeeper, would go along with this, so long as he couldn’t see any immediate risk. And, judging by the way he nudged Screwdriver, he was willing to defer to Grace’s judgment.

“Fine, fine, Jesus but you’re a goddamn train wreck sometimes. “ Screwdriver said, “Just call me Screwdriver, everyone else already does.” Kicking aside a stone a rather impressive distance, he snapped, “Fuck, you kill one bastard with a rusty tool and you never live it down.”

“Be glad we’re not calling you fucking Eyegouger or Eyepopper or something like that,” ZAxel pointed out.

“Can I help it if people’s eyes are soft?” he demanded.

Before the two could get into an impromptu screaming match, Steve took the reigns of the conversation and the both of them by the back of their necks. “Quiet, boys,” he growled, leaning forward between them. Without releasing his hold, he nodded to the bound woman. “My name is Steve. Can’t exactly say it’s a fucking pleasure, since you went and pissed me off, but I won’t reserve judgment.”

“You mean you will withhold judgement, Steve,” Axel corrected. “And I’m the one who built that fun little gadget that you were stupid enough to get caught in. The name’s Axel, so you’d best not forget it.”

Sensing her opportunity to tease him, Grace chimed in, “It’s actually Anders.”

“Axel,” he barked, jerking against Steve’s tight hold in his attempt to snap physically at her. “It’s actually fucking Axel.”

“Wow,” Steve whistled. “You _almost_ went a full five sentences without swearing.”

“Oh, just say ‘fucking’ paragraph, you pussy.”

“A paragraph is five to seven sentences,” Screwdriver deadpanned. “And you haven’t fucking made it past four yet.”

While Steve wrangled Screwdriver and Axel to keep them from clawing and gouging out each other’s eyes, Grace turned back to Marlene.

“Lover’s quarrel?” she asked.

Grace shrugged a shoulder. “Something like that,” she said evasively. “Now, why were you really following us? No more flattery, Marlene.”

“Ah, but my tongue aches to speak your praises.” Catching sight of her unamused frown, Marlene sighed and switched tracks. “Yes, fine, I followed you. However, can you blame me? I need to leave the Capital wasteland, you already are leaving the Capital wasteland, and there’s safety in numbers.”

 _Clever of her to intertwine self-defeating comments and indirect praise of our abilities,_ Grace noted. Her eyes roamed over the woman again. Deep auburn curls hung down in a mess, upset by her position; it was easy to imagine them splayed out on a pillow. Tight, corded muscles and supple curves even the odd angle and leather armor couldn’t mask; again, her imagination could easily fill in the gaps. Full, chapped lips. Sultry brown eyes.

_Clever of her to ingratiate herself with the one person in our group that isn’t covered in scars, tattoos, or any sort of armor that screams ‘I probably used to murder people for fun’. This woman could be useful. She’s been following us since we left the Capital, and we’ve only just noticed her._

“We’re taking you with,” she decided.

Her companions stopped short – Axel and Screwdriver’s foreheads pressed together, Steve nearing a state of undress as they fought to free themselves – and stared at her. Steve looked between Grace and Marlene, questioning, so Grace set her hand decisively on the curve of Marlene’s jaw, thumb brushing over her lips.

The other woman’s tongue flicked out and wet her digit.

 “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “Guess we’re a party of five now. Good going, Axel, you caught Grace some candy.” Releasing Axel, he shoved him toward their newest member. “Now go free her.”

“Hold the fuck up,” Screwdriver protested. “Why do we got to take her with? What happened to that damn amaze-balls idea you had earlier about leaving her to die?”

“I’m not gonna touch this shit storm with a twenty foot pole. Grace, Screwdriver, figure out your issues so that I don’t have to fucking deal with them. Axel—”

On cue, Axel finished undoing the trap, allowing Marlene to fall in a graceless heap to the hard ground.

“Quite the brute!” she shouted. “Treat a lady with respect, why don’t you?”

“I was told to let you go,” he said airily, “not cushion your fall. Besides, you’re fine.”

“Grace,” Screwdriver growled. “Why don’t you and I have a talk while we walk?”

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she realized the enormity of what she’d just done, and how Screwdriver would take it. It hadn’t been her intention, but she had to face the damage she’d inadvertently done. It would be a very long walk the rest of the way to New Vegas.


	13. Omnia Mutantur...

“What do you think they’ll do when that sign finally gives?”

Sixx broke the silence that they had walked in for the past innumerable miles. Obligingly, Ringo glanced over at the man, though to be honest he’d been sure to keep the courier well within his line of sight this whole trip. This whole business had worn his nerves down, and having to see the deputy of Primm lying half naked and fully hard on an old matress had hardly been his top choice for a good time.

Lucky asked, “What do you mean?”

That was something he’d noticed almost immediately after they’d hit the road. Lucky was eager to soak up every word Sixx decided to say, like a thirsty man or an addict looking for another hit. He hid his disgusted glance between the two by staring forward, to the sign that had started this discussion. So they’d made it to Novac, how delightful. Only a little bit longer before he could leave the slightly deranged wastelander and his ever faithful fool behind.

“Hey, Ringo, you listening?”

He shivered and jerked back from Sixx, putting some distance between them once more.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I just want to get back to the Crimson Caravan Company and put this all behind me.”

“I’ll just bet,” Sixx laughed with a sharp grin.

“So kid,” Ringo said, “I didn’t know you knew your way around a securitron.”

Lucky perked up at the mention of his accomplishment in Primm. “Yeah! Yeah, I picked up a copy of Dean’s Electronics a few years back. Read it cover to cover and just kept fixing anything and everything I could get my hands on. Had to do some trial and error stuff, but yeah, I can fix up anything, well, nearly anything.”

Only half listening but fully thankful that Lucky had taken over the flow of the conversation, he picked up the pace once they made it to the giant, faded lizard and eagerly ducked inside, clambering up the steps quickly despite the lack of lighting.

“Howdy!” the shopkeeper greeted, unnaturally chipper. “Welcome to the Dino Bite. Are you here for to buy one of our famous dino toys?”

“No—s”

“I’m surprised! They’re going fast. If you wait they might not still be here.”

“And what a shame that would be.” Ringo had to admit that Sixx at least had a hell of a grasp on sarcasm. “Do you have anything actually useful for sale?”

“Of course I do! These dinos are an essential to everyone, wastelander or caravaner. I’’m sure gents like you have a pretty lady – or lad, I don’t judge – waiting for you at home. Your loved ones will love an authentic Novac Dino De Lite dinosaur!”

“If you don’t shut up about them toys, I’m gonna walk out of this damn place.”

“Fine!” he cried, giving in. “No one ever buys the dinosaurs. What are you looking for?”

Ringo took that as his cue to step in, especially since he was sure that Sixx had sated his odd conversational bloodlust for now. “We’re looking for water and ammo. Food, if you’ve got it, and a place to stay for the night.”

“For food you’ll have to speak with Jeanie Mae, same for a place to stay. It’s nighttime though, so you may have to find Tate. You can’t miss the guy, he’ll be down in the office cleaning up. As for ammo and water, I’ve got everything you need. Why don’t you take a look?” With thtat said and a broad sweeping gesture with his arm, the shopkeeper stepped back to allow Rngo to look at his wares.

“Lucky and I will go speak with this Tate fellow,” Sixx said. Ringo tried not startle again, but honeslty Sixx needed to learn the meaning of ‘personal space’ before Ringo ended up punching his lights out. “We’ll come find you one way or another.”

While he didn’t particularly trust Sixx, he glanced over to see Lucky nodding eagerly and so decided to trust the kid not to leave him behind. Or to let Sixx have him foot the bill for this whole thing. If he could get Sixx and Lucky to pitch in on food supplies, he didn’t mind covering the ammo and water costs. After all, he’d been the one to use the most ammo himself. His itchy trigger finger and paranoia were very expensive habits.

“Sure thing, Sixx, Lucky. See you later,” he answered absently. The store keeper, despite his comments about the toys, did have a fair selection to choose from. Between him, Lucky and Sixx, they’d gone through a bit of .357, .223, and 9mm ammo. It’d have been a lot easier if any of them carried weapons with the same ammo types, but he was just thankful that none of them carried any sort of engery weapons. Laser and plasma shells cost a bomb.

Picking out a few boxes of each ammo caliber and a few bottles of fresh, purified water, Ringo handed over the caps and thanked the man for his business.

“You sure you don’t want to buy a dino toy?”

Ringo rolled his eyes and walked out with his purchases secured in his bag. The darkness that he’d been able to squint past earlier now was a bigger problem, his night vision gone and destroyed by the bright lights in the shop.

“Ah, shoot,” he cursed under his breath. Taking them one at a time was slow going, but it was better than taking a spill down the stairs and busting open his skull or something equally embarrassing. He made sure to place both feet securely on the same step before moving on to the next and kept a death grip on the railing, though the railing was pretty flimsy and probably wouldn’t do much besides fall with him if he fell.

Finally, he stood on solid earth rather than rickety wood. Letting out a sigh of relief, he started in the direction that he thought he remembered seeing the main office. It was directly behind the dinosaur, wasn’t it?

Before he made it five steps, he saw a shadowy figure race towards him and so he raised up his gun – he was just about to fire when Lucky called out in a whispered shout, “Ringo, don’t shoot me, jeez.”

“Don’t run up to someone in complete darkness,” snapped Ringo. The brief scare had shaken him more than he wanted to admit to, and he didn’t particularly like the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t hesitated to shoot.

“Sorry, I meant to catch you while you were still in the dino bite,” Lucky apologized. God the kid was like a puppy. “Our room is the one on the—why don’t I just show you later. There’s this sniper guy we should talk to up in the mouth of the dinosaur.”

Without even realizing it, he’d found himself led back up the stairs and back into the glaringly bright shop. Great, so his night vision hadn’t returned enough to be helpful, but it was enough to make this unpleasant and uncomfortable.

“Ah, you’re back,” the store owner said. “You change your mind about the dinosaurs, perhaps?”

Without stopping, Lucky rushed past him to the door to the left. “Nope, thanks for the offer though, Cliff, we’ve got to speak to Boone though,” he called out. Unfortunately, the speed he spoke with turned it into one long word. _Nopethanksfortheofferthoughcliffwevegottaspeaktoboonethough._ Ringo inferred therefore that the shop keeper was Cliff, and the sniper was Boone, but he was simply tired. He was too old to keep up with Lucky. They’d been walking all day and long enough during the night to get used to the darkness. How was Lucky still standing, let alone running around everywhere like a jet fiend?

He gave Cliff a pitying look, because the man looked a little shell shocked, and followed Lucky all the same. Stepping through the ajar door, he arrived just in time to see an angry faced sniper glaring impressively at Lucky, and Lucky, the foolish kid, raising up his hands in a cavalier show of deference.

“Shit, kid, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on the jumpy,” Ringo said.

“Right! So, Boone, I hear you’re pretty darn good with a rifle, so why don’t you join us? Uh, us being me and Sixx, not Ringo here, he’s going back to the Crimson Caravan company soon enough.”

Even with the sniper’s eyes hidden by his shades, Ringo could see his patience wearing thin. Ringo reached out for Lucky and pulled him back. “Come on, kid, let’s just head to the room.”

“Wait.”

He froze then looked back at the sniper, Boone.

“You’re not from here,” he said. Ringo fought the urge to comment on how sharp his observational skills were. “That could work. No one in this town looks me in the eye. Legion took my wife. Someone here sold her.”

“Do you usually trust strangers like this?”

“Do you usually antagonize people with sniper rifle powerful enough to punch a hole through you?” Ringo clapped Lucky upside the head before nodding for Boone to continue.

“Find who did it,” Boone ordered. “Bring him out front the dinosaur. Put this on –“ he handed over his beret “—and I’ll do the rest.”

“Wouldn’t you rather find and save your wife?” Ringo asked. The look the sniper gave him was downright murderous.

“She’s dead.”

Oh.

Leave it to the kid though, he smiled earnestly at the glaring, angst filled sniper, tightened his grip on the beret, and said firmly, “We’ll bring justice to you and your wife. We can’t bring her back, but we can make sure the _bastardo_ gets what’s coming to him.”

Maybe Ringo was imagining it, but he could have sworn the corners of Boone’s mouth might have turned up in a smile, however slight.

The moment passed as quickly as it came. Boone turned back to look out into the darkness, ready to protect the town; Ringo turned on his heel and Lucky followed after him.

“You have any idea where to start looking?” Ringo asked Lucky as soon as they stepped out the door.

“Not a one.”

“Well that seems like –“ His foot slipped, heel losing traction on wood, and he went down. Pain flared along his spine, the back of his skull, and an inferno exploded in his elbow and ankles.

Sound came only distantly, subsumed by pain and creeping unconsciousness. Night vision more developed now, he saw Lucky’s face hovering over his own and the boy’s mouth move. Exhaustion bore down on him, and really, he’d just fallen down a flight of stairs after walking all day. He deserved to rest just a little bit.

He shut his eyes.


	14. Ergo Nihil Interit

Ranger Jackson, Fred decided, was an absolute moron. The sort of bureaucratic bullshit swallowing piece of crap that thought he was a big shot just because he was in charge.

Shit, the outpost had seen more foot traffic from those damn fire ants than it had caravans and actual trade. Now half of that was because the New California Republic couldn’t manage to keep Fiends from raiding the caravans and slaughtering their Brahmin, but the other half was because of the sheer number of fire ants that had set up camp down in the route. The ants had been there for ages at this point and so long as they were there, Ranger Jackson wouldn’t allow them to leave. Even to clear out the ants. It was a real fine system they had going, here at the New California Republic outpost.

“Did someone toss a stick of dynamite down into a fire ant nest or something?” he asked. There was a brief wave of murmured, strained laughter around the bar. He grumbled a curse against all idiots without a proper sense of humor while he swirled his liquor around in his glass.

“Clean,” Pyro told him.

He glanced over and flashed her a quick smile. “You’re right,” he said. “But maybe I should be done drinking for now. Don’t want to end up like that one over there.” He jerked an unsubtle thumb over in the direction of a woman with sharp cheek bones and sharper blue eyes, deep in her cups. She was slumped over the counter, but with one hand curled protectively around the neck of a bottle and the other raised up in the air to flip him off.

Fred chuckled throatily as he slid off the stool and reached out to steady Pyro who had, apparently, a bit more to drink than he had. Funny, though, he couldn’t smell much alcohol on her. All he could smell was sun baked leather and soot, the scents he’d come to associate with the woman who all but hung off him.

“Got som’thin’ to tell ya,” Pyro said. “It’s important.”

“Can it wait until we’re out of the bar?”

She made a show of contemplating her answer, during which time Fred took full advantage to study his – friend. Friend was a good word for what they were.

Her eyes were half lidded and smoky, even when she didn’t burn with alcohol, and her lips curled at the side, dragged and twisted down by scar tissue. She reached out for him, to steady herself against him, and even though she was small, compact, more muscle than curves, he found he liked the feel of her warm body pressed against his.

“Jackson won’t let us leave,” she whispered, voice low and rough. “We could make it more tolerable.”

He blinked at her. “How?” he asked. Did she have a plan to sneak away while the ranger and other New California Republic soldiers were distracted?

“Let’s get outside first.” She laughed, “You were right, this bar is no good. Time to go.”

They stepped outside, somewhat simultaneously, though that depended on one’s definition of the word. Regardless, once they both stood outside, standing together like some sort of mockery, or perhaps reimagining, of the statues out in front of the outpost, Pyro took hold of either side of his face and kissed him hard and deep.

At first, he froze. How was he supposed to react? Then, he melted into her, slowly closing the gap between their bodies and rapidly learning just how long in coming this had been. Their tongues wrestled and fought. He thought that was a crude description, when it felt more like they were stealing life or breath from the other, like tasting something he hadn’t realized he’d been craving his entire life, but as the seconds passed and he became increasingly light headed, he stopped thinking altogether.

He was a collection of urges and movement instead. Breathing, ragged and heavy. Tongue flicking out to trace scarred lips. Fingers carding through short, uneven curls. Steps taken to duck into the shadow behind the bar. They were out of sight. He was out of his mind.

“Been waiting forever.”

And he wasn’t quite so sure who said that.

“Pyro,” he gasped her name endlessly, a litany of syllables falling from his tongue even as he hurried to lap them up off her skin, the tip ducking between the grooves and valleys of burn scar tissue. “Pyro, Pyro, fuck, Pyro.”

Her name was a prayer on his lips as clothing fell away. Sand clung to sweat slick skin. She straddled him, smirked, eyes blazing; Pyro was fire incarnate, warmth and scorching flame wrapped up in flesh marked with its failures to keep her tamed. She was dark, smoky whispers like the pages of a pre-war book; she was tanned leather for flesh rippled over hard cut muscle; she was the crackle and dance of an inferno, the echoing reverberations of a bomb going off.

He didn’t know when, but at some point he’d flipped her onto her stomach, grinding hard and fast, rapid fire like a fuse burning down, then slow like the embers of a dying fire, pleasure and sensation smoldering and building and building and building.

The noises she made went through him. Sharp, keening noises. Up close, his face buried into the crook of her neck, he could hear her fall apart, could feel her fly apart like ash in the wind.

Once she lay spent, panting and cooling like scorched wood, he allowed himself to follow suit, shaking and trembling as he saw only her, only her with her eyes on him and her mouth tilted in that way she always tilted at him in.

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him more gently, less needily, now that they were both finished.

He hummed in contentment as he rearranged her and himself so that he could lie down beside her, arms crossed across her chest. “Should probably have found a bed,” he yawned.

“Too many eyes.”

Fred laughed, because it was true. Indoors was much more crowded than outside in broad daylight.

“FOR THE GLORY OF CAESAR!”

The scream, and subsequent gunfire, startled them both to jerk apart. Without time to dust even a grain of sand off their bodies, they hastily dressed and started running. He reached out and found Pyro’s hand as they raced past a single man taking on three New California Republic soldiers with only a machete. Stupid Legionary, he cursed.

“Fire ants!” Pyro hissed. “Through Ivanapah.”

It was a testament to their synergy and shared history that he knew immediately what she meant. Yes, they could hide from the ants and the rest of the legionaries in the constant sand storm on the dried lake. Where there was one fire ant, there were twenty more plus a fire ant queen. Where there was one stupid legionary recruit, there were forty more plus twenty veterans sitting back to slit the throats of whoever remained.

The steep decline and loose gravel on the road made it difficult to stay upright and keep any semblance of speed, but whenever he started to trip up, she caught him, and likewise he caught her.

Soon the ground leveled out and they ran straight into the thick of the latest sand storm. Fred used his free hand to draw his bandana across his mouth, thankful he hadn’t lost it in their escape. He squinted as he glanced over at Pyro. She lowered her head, bowing against the wind but far from submitting to it, and used her free hand to protect her eyes further from the whipping sands.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the wind would swallow any words he may have wanted to say and so he kept quiet. The sand tore at his skin and his clothing, which the farther they walked, the more convinced he was that he’d accidentally put on Pyro’s briefs rather than his own. They dug into his hips slightly as he walked, just enough to be irritating.

 _Out of the frying pan and into the middle of an endless sandstorm,_ he thought mirthlessly. _We’re really moving on up in this world. Damn Ranger Jackson and his stupid fire ants._


	15. Expedit Esse Deos

The signal ended in the middle of nowhere. Not like the base was underground or well widen, though she couldn’t, wouldn’t, discount that possibility considering the organization she worked for, but that the signal simply stopped. Her tracker just stopped.

“Damn it,” Emma cursed for the thousandth time. “Fucking piece of technology, no better than scrap metal.”

Behind her, her companions chattered amongst each other, or in Knox and Vonnegut’s case, squabbled. Jackie and Claud, twins who embodied every stereotype she’d ever heard of about twins, bickered and traded jokes without a pause or any rhyme or reason to the transition between the two. Knox and Vonnegut, however, seemed to be on a personal mission to make her miserable by being the living embodiments of antagonism.

“Don’t you hog the water,” Knox griped at Von. Emma felt her headache worsen with each word. She could imagine the ghouls swiping at each other, fighting over the canteen like children, in perfect clarity because it had happened every so often (too often) enough already. Knox would bat at Von’s hat in an attempt to distract him, he would respond by kicking up a cloud of sand into her face and to back up while she rubbed the grit out of her eyes.

“You fucker!” Knox cried, confirming that, once again, she was right on the caps about what had just transpired.

She rounded on them and snatched the water flask out of Von’s hands. “Give me that,” she snapped. “Christ on a crutch, you two are impossible! Act your age for once!”

Both ghouls scowled and crossed their arms, their postures exact mirrors of each other and reminiscent of petulant children denied a treat.

“She started it,” Von pointed out.

Knox cried, “Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

Before they could continue further and further wreck her patience, she shouted, “I don’t care! I don’t care who started it! I’m fucking ending it, right here and now. I carry the damn water flask from here on, because _obviously_ you two are incapable.”

With that settled, she spun back around and resumed studying her tracker intently.

Quietly, Von hissed, “Look what you did, you hedgehog.”

“What you did, you mean,” Knox returned. “Wait. What did you just call me?”

“Hedgehog,” Von repeated viciously. “You’re a fucking hedgehog.”

“No, you’re a damn hedgehog!”

Her patience snapped like a wire and with cool precision she stuffed the tracker into its holster at the waist of her power armor. Turning back around once more, she growled, “You are both hedgehogs, and you’re about to be bloody hedgehogs if you don’t shut up long enough for me to find the fucking base!”

Finally, Jackie and Claude exited their personal twin bubble of conversation to throw their two caps in. Jackie drawled, “Well I don’t see why we can’t set up for the night over in that town.”

“It’s not like you’re getting anywhere fast,” Claud added. Once more, they proved to solidify that stereotype.

“Don’t you two have separate brains?” she grumbled. “Besides, that town is literally feet away from Deathclaw territory. That’s just asking for trouble.”

 “They’re also loaded to the teeth with dynamite.”

“Mixed metaphor, Claud,” Jackie corrected him idly. “But seriously, honey, it’s not like the base is going to be going anywhere anytime soon. Neither are we, for that matter, if you insist on walking in circles like this.”

“Shut up and let me think. All of you,” she added, when it looked like Von was about to say something else. She loved the ghoul dearly, she really did, but he had a motor mouth that just wouldn’t quit and the only way to avoid her ears bleeding would be to nip his monologue in the bud now.

Emma sighed heavily as she rested her hand on top of the apparently useless tracker. The town in question, something weird like Slide or Slow, weird like the rest of the names of the settlements in New Vegas, would be their best bet for a warm meal and a relatively soft bed. But Deathclaws. That was a very good reason not to return to the settlement. But it was nearly sundown and she needed to get out of her power armor before she developed a nasty rash. Again. No matter how well built and well maintained, the metal still overheated from the sun and all the wiring. Plus it was hardly the best seal – rather, no seal was tight enough to prevent little granules of sand from sneaking in and irritating her skin like nobody’s business.

“Okay,” she said, “I got it figured.”

They waited eagerly, though a tad impatiently. It seemed it wasn’t only her temper and patience that was running thin. Well, that she’d already figured for Knox and Von, but she’d thought that Jackie and Claud were less susceptible to it.

“We’ll bypass heading back to Sloan for now.” At the brief flash of shared exasperation on her companions’ faces, she held up her hand and added, “But we’ll head for the town Chumps told us about. Goodspring or whatever they called it.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to remember someone or something’s name properly,” Von laughed. Apparently, with the promise of rest before him, he’d found his sense of humor again. “So, we’re headed to Goodsprings, on the word of Chomps Lewis, because you know as well as we all do that nothing will be solved with all of us dead on our feet.”

“Yes, Von,” she said with an amused tinge of exasperation to her words, “thank you for translating.”

“Let’s get moving then,” Claud suggested. “I’d rather not be traveling past Quarry Junction in the dark.”

“I don’t think Deathclaws can see in the dark.”

“I’ve watched a blind Deathclaw maul a man just as easily as a sighted one,” Knox said. “I don’t care whether they’ve got nightvision. You don’t fuck around where Deathclaws are concerned.”

“They don’t get concerned,” Von said—Emma wasn’t sure whether he was joking, or poking fun at how Knox phrased it.

Of course Knox took it as an insult, whatever his intention. “It’s a figure of speech you imbecile.”

Emma clapped her hands together, halting the spiraling and ultimately distracting conversation. “Well, let’s get moving, ladies and gents, sun isn’t going to hang in the sky forever.”

“Wouldn’t that be odd though? A sun that never set.”

“Don’t get all philosophizing on me now, Von, I need your head out of the clouds in case we do run into a deathclaw.”

“True enough, Emma.” Von made an exaggerated noise of contemplation. “Though the deathclaw would probably end up ripping my head from my shoulders and sending it into the air anyway.”

“Or sending you flying with one swipe of its claws,” Knox pointed out. “I might even pop some popcorn for the show. The great Vonnegut, soaring through the air as graceful as a stuck bird.”

“Perhaps a carved turkey?”

“Turkey don’t fly.”

Claud asked, “Don’t they?”

“I’d have thought they would,” Von said. “Don’t all birds fly? That’s the definition. Things with wings that go flap flap fly and fly through the air.”

Once more, Emma recaptured her group’s attention with another impatient clap of her hands. “All perfectly good reasons why we should keep. Moving. Knox, stop being a hedgehog.”

The surprised, indignant but helplessly amused way she bristled brought laughter to Emma’s lips and reminded her just why she put up with two ghouls who couldn’t get along and two siblings who got along a little too well.

“To Goodsprings!” Jackie cried. “And hopefully not through Quarry Junction!”

Von added wryly, “Or past any other big bad creatures of the Mojave.”

As they walked, the overall mood much uplifted, Emma tried not to worry too much. After all, there were plenty of reasons why her tracker could have stopped working. There were plenty of reasons why the two most likely possibilities weren’t a worst case scenario. If the Brotherhood had turned off their tracking beacon, well, that was their prerogative. If there was a change in leadership, or an imminent one, then it would make sense for them to shut it down. If the Brotherhood had set up a jamming array, then that too was their prerogative. If there were threats nearby, or close enough, like that of the Legion or the New California Republic, then it would make sense for them to make sure no one could find the headquarters easily. Still, her skin crawled, and it wasn’t because of the grains of sand that had sneaked their way into her suit.


	16. Faciant Meliora Potentes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here marks where I stopped updating this, but continued to write and update my word count on site. Additionally, not all chapters were completed chronologically from this point, as such the chapters are not always completed, including notes to myself. Any notes will be placed either atop or down below, rather within the chapter. It may help to pay attention to them, as occasionally I stopped mid chapter due to writer's block or other reasons and never returned. This is my first draft, and nowhere near completion.
> 
> [[notes: unfinished chapter. Plot remaining in this chapter, because Ringo is laid up with a concussion and sprained ankle, Lucky and Sixx do a favor for Manny and get rid of the ghouls. After, they go their separate ways from Ringo as they come to the 188 trading post; Veronica is mentioned as the vendor and they are close enough to the Crimson Caravan Company that Ringo feels safe. Lucky and Sixx head to Boulder City.]]

Sixx stood in the doorway to the motel bathroom, shadowed by the shoddy lighting, staring at a laid up Ringo.

“You did what now?” Sixx asked. “Because I ain’t so sure I’m hearing this right.”

Ringo flushed, his cheekers reddening with either embarrassment or frustration, Lucky couldn’t tell which. “I fell down the steps,” he mumbled.

In the darkness, all Lucky could see of Sixx’s face was his broad smile. It shone stark against the shadows, like knives glinting. “I couldn’t quite catch that. You did what?”

“Shut up,” Ringo snapped. “You heard me the last three times too.”

Laughing, he approached the bed and set his hands down on Ringo’s legs. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he chuckled. “Since you’re all laid up, and Lucky here promised that sniper a couple favors, we’ll be here in Novac for a little while. Rest easy, Ringo.”

“We’re going to figure out who sold Boone’s wife now?” Lucky asked.

 “Yep.”

Well, he sounded rather sure of himself, so Lucky put aside his misgivings. Sure, it was nighttime, but Sixx hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

“What’s the plan?” Lucky asked Sixx as he followed the other man out of the motel room.

“Simple enough,” he said. He set a rapid pace and kept his eyes roaming the darkness. “We’re going to find some evidence of foul play. The Legion are surprisingly thorough when it comes to slave deals involving outsiders. Dissolute. What the fuck ever. Whoever it is is going to still have the paperwork on hand.”

“Are you sure? Isn’t that kind of asking for the trouble, to keep a paper saying you sold someone’s _wife_ to the _Legion_?”

Sixx’s gaze settled on some in between spot in the distance. His voice lacked its usual strength and bombast as he said, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

Caught completely off guard, Lucky didn’t know how to respond to that, and so didn’t, but it nagged at the back of his mind. _What does he mean by that?_ he wondered. _Has he had to deal with something similar before?_

That was a terrifying thought.

“No Bark!” Sixx called out suddenly. Lucky startled, surprised to find the man crouched in the darkness to their right. No Bark had frozen comically, with one foot raised and arms askew, and stared wide eyed at Sixx and Lucky like they had appeared out of nowhere.

“I ain’t talking to no venom tongued alien!” he cried, pointing at Sixx. “You ain’t getting nothing out of No Bark Noonan, nothing!”

In a flash, Sixx closed the gap, holding No Bark’s dominant hand far from his body and from the knife at his waist. “You’re going to tell me about the purchase of Carla Boone.”

“Don’t do me no harm, scorpion! I didn’t mean to call you a no good mean old cuss, I know you got a heart of gold hidden with all them radscorpions under your skin. Somewhere.”

Lucky tried to wrap his mind around just what No Bark meant by what he was saying, but the man was crazier than a bag of cats. The look on Sixx’s face, equal parts confusion and irritation, told him that he had likewise come to the same conclusion.

“I saw some shadow people go in and out of the sniper fellow’s room,” No Bark said. “Maybe seen one of them head to the lobby for a spell. Not sure. If it did, might’ve been to get something, or just use the john. That’s all I know. Now get your pincers off of me.”

Obligingly, Sixx released No Bark, who in turn set off running like Sixx was a danger to him; sure, Lucky admitted that Sixx could come across strongly, but not so much so to warrant that response.

“That was enlightening,” growled Sixx. “You any good with your hands, kid? Tumblers and such?”

“Ah, yeah, a fair bit,” he responded. “Got to have a deft hand when you work with wiring, you know?”

“Great. Give over the beret and go into the motel.” He jerked his head back toward the lobby as he held his hand out expectantly. “There ought to be a filing cabinet or safe. Locked, no doubt, so make quick with it.”

Lucky didn’t hesitate to hand over the beret. He hadn’t realized how heavy it was, the weight of carrying the signal to end someone’s life, until he was free of it. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m off to grab the guest of honor,” he answered cryptically before stalking forward and leaving Lucky behind.

The nighttime chill had settled deeply in his bones, sending a shiver up his spine. He rubbed some warmth into his arms through the thin fabric and ducked into the lobby. It was empty, but unlocked, which was fitting considering the business Jeannie May ran. Hopefully, the hotel was the only business she ran; hopefully he wouldn’t find anything in the filing cabinets to condemn her.

Along the right wall, in the corner behind the desk, was the cabinets. He rifled through the drawers, jimmying and shaking the even ones that were all rusted up. Underfoot, he felt something odd through the plastic mat, some sort of unevenness to the floor. And, considering there wasn’t any sort of rot to suggest warping of the linoleum, he decided to take a peek.

“Jack pot,” he whispered. Pulling out a bobby pin and a paper clip, he set about fighting with the tumblers. After a couple failed attempts and broken bobby pins, he popped open the lock.

A few handfuls of caps and a couple bound packs of pre-war money, and down underneath all that a holodisk titled Bill of Sale.

 _Maybe it’s the deed for the motel_ , he thought, bile rising in his throat. Nothing more than Ms. Crawford bought the Dino Dee Lite from John and Jane Doe, not any other sort of _business_ transaction.

He opened it and briefly scanned its contents.

Certain words and phrases stuck out like a sore thumb. Or a smoking gun, perhaps.

Latin words and Latin names glared at him in green and black, accusing. _Purchased from Jeannie May Crawford. Exclusive rights to ownership. Carla Boone. Her unborn child._

At least the part about additional payment upon – he almost threw up just at the thought – ‘successful maturation of the fetus’ meant her keeping hold of the paperwork made sense. Dark, gruesome, inhumane sense, but sense all the same.

Feeling sick, weak and shaky, he gripped the holodisk tightly, so tightly it could have cracked under the pressure hadn’t been so _lovingly_ taken care of in Jeannie May’s safe. Tremors built up within his whole body, tightening his muscles to grind his teeth together and his knees to shake, but he hurried outside.

The view was blocked by the dinosaur, but he heard the shot clearly. It echoed through him. Like a stone thrown into a lake. He almost tripped over his own two feet as he stumbled up the steps, past the unmanned store and up further into the dinosaur to the sniper’s nest. His feet felt heavier with each step.

Had Boone known that Carla was pregnant? He didn’t know which he hoped for. Instead of focusing on that, he opened the door.

“That’s it then,” Boone growled. There was a weariness to the words though, beyond the anger. A rawness. “How’d you know?”

Lucky found he couldn’t get the words out. _I found the bill of sale,_ seemed far too cold and clinical. It did no justice to the injustice visited upon Boone and his wife – and unborn child. God, he couldn’t get over that part. Swallowing thickly, he handed over the holotape without a word.

“Just like them to keep paperwork,” he spat.

An apology choked him.

Right then, Sixx strolled in and tossed the beret at Boone. “Indeed,” he said. “For a bunch of raping, enslaving murder fucks, they sure do love their goddamn paperwork.”

Boone caught the beret with a scowl, replacing it atop his head and the holotape, Lucky noticed, secured in the pocket of his cargos. “Our dealings are done here,” he said.

“Seems to me you’re done here too,” Sixx pointed out and leaned against the door frame. “You said it yourself. No one in this place looks you in the eye. We’ll be back, eventually, in our travels as we intend on booting the Legion out of the Mojave. Keep that in mind, when next you see us.”

With that, Sixx breezed down the stairs once more, leaving both Lucky and the sniper dazed. It lasted only a split second, however, and he hurried after Sixx.


	17. Neca Ne Neceris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Tracer is on his way to Primm when he hears rumor of Valor and Noble at the New California Republic Correctional Facility. Davis, unfortunately, sniffs him out immediately and sets him to work for Eddie. He overhears an argument between Valor and Noble, where they blame each other for being stuck here. Valor is pissed that Noble’s lack of sense of direction got them here in the first place, (seriously noble, how'd you manage to go the completely wrong direction???) Noble blames her for not negotiating better prices and blowing through their profits.]]

* * *

unfortunately this chapter is unwritten.

the sorrows and dangers of nanowrimo.

* * *

 

 


	18. Fames Sitisque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Axel and Crew are stuck in Freeside thanks to the cap check. Thus they attempt to earn money and King's favor.]]

“Damn fucking piece of scrap metal,” Screwdriver growled and fought against Steve’s restraining arms. “Let me fucking blow the damn thing sky high! I’ll show you a fucking cap check!”

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” a dirty old man in a dirty old suit said. “Unless you’d like to be reduced to ash.”

While the stranger distracted him, Grace took the opportunity to creep up on Screwdriver and whisper in his ear, “You’re already an ash hole.”

Predictably, he snorted and stopped fighting as hard. “Oh, you fucking – Jesus though. Why such a high cap limit?”

“Technically it’s a minimum,” Axel pointed out, because apparently he lived to piss Screwdriver off. Marlene frowned. She couldn’t get a read on the dynamics between the group.

At any given time, it seemed like Steve was in charge, but then if Axel or Grace or Screwdriver suggested anything, he’d willingly step back and let them take charge. Usually Axel and Screwdriver were at each other’s throats, but she’d also witnessed what appeared to be lover’s spats and also moments of startling tenderness. Honestly, she’d seen it all now that she’d watched two of the foulest mouthed men she’d ever met actually comfort each other and act like lovebirds. But then she’d also watched Screwdriver act protective and tender and all those old-world boy-next-door style traits toward Grace. Actually, was Screwdriver just the bicycle of the group? He was potentially in a relationship with Axel, or Grace, and yet he made starry eyes at Steve.

Whatever, she’d get a better handle on the relationships in the group later. For now, at least Screwdriver had stopped trying to get incinerated by the securitrons.

“You could speak with Mick and Ralph about a, ah,” the stranger paused briefly to search for a better word, “passport to circumvent the caps check.”

Steve released Screwdriver and pushed him, not by much, just enough to force him to take a few stumbling steps away from the gate. “Thanks for the tip,” he said.


	19. Causa Ubique Valet

There was something to be said about waking up naked and sticky, pressed on either side by warm bodies.

There was also something better to be said about remembering how he got from point a to point b. Preferably without the headache and taste of grit and lingering bile. Though, his muscles informed him there hadn’t been anything scandalous last night to make this hangover even remotely worth it. He sat up best he could with the weight of two bodies atop his. He found himself a bit surprised by the naked forms of his new friends. Not that they were naked – he had inferred they would be as well once he realized his own nakedness – but the shapes of their bodies.

Natalie was slight of build, tiny, without the bulk of fabric to make her appear larger than she was. She had few curves to speak of, all delicate lines and gentle slopes. Colten was her antithesis, and yet not. Without the armor, she was softer, for sure, but still muscular, and with a fair number of small, spidery scars covering her flesh; it was the single claw mark on her right side, just under her ribs, that caught his eye. Then, realizing he was staring, he turned his gaze away and set attempting to free himself from the press of bodies. Even if it was rather pleasant, he admitted, to wake up that way.

“Well shit,” Colten murmured. “Where do you think you’re going with my view?”

Greyson didn’t startle, but it was a close thing. Figuring there wasn’t much point to commenting – and subsequently admitting to having ogled both women while he thought they were asleep – he resumed putting his underwear and pants back on.

Colten stayed quiet for a minute more, but Grey could feel her eyes on him as he finally was able to stand by the bed. Natalie made a contented noise as she resettled, still deep in sleep.

After he had pulled on his underwear and pants, she asked, “So, what mess did you get yourself into to earn that much scarring?”

He glanced over at her, caught halfway between putting on his shirt. There wasn’t any judgement or pity in her eyes, merely curiosity.

“Tell you my story if you tell me yours,” he said after a moment’s deliberation, staring pointedly at the large scar.

“I thought it’d be fun to clear out a yao guai den by myself,” she answered breezily, tossing a lazy smirk his way. “Your turn.”

“Why’d you do it?” He wasn’t about to let her off that easy, and she rolled her eyes, albeit fondly, when she realized he wasn’t about to let her get away with that.

“So there was this man.”

His mouth twisted in amusement.

“Don’t you start too,” she ordered, waving her hand to preempt his commentary. “So, yeah, I was trying to impress this guy. Way I figured it, he loved his tribe. I’d seen his love for them firsthand. The Yao Guai were directly threatening the tribe and the only other major threat we’d already handled. Long story short, I blew up a cave, got nearly ripped open, and realized that violence was necessary, but it wasn’t enjoyable. I’m a slow learner. I knew he’d felt that way when it came to killing the White Legs, but I didn’t think it applied to all aspects of his life, if that makes sense.” Before Greyson could say anything, Colten added, “Not that I thought he was a hypocrite, just that I hadn’t realized that he had such a desire to protect, even those outside his tribe, from their own stupidity.”

He opened his mouth.

“I mean, that I didn’t expect him to care about someone injuring themselves because they couldn’t think out a proper plan, not that he’s a callous person who’d begrudge someone medical attention for a slight reason.”

“That--” Greyson started.

“Joshua surprised me because I thought he’d prefer tough love in response to someone bringing a cave down on their heads.”

He covered her mouth with his hand before she could keep talking. “That makes sense,” Greyson interrupted, finally able to get a word in. “You don’t need to keep explaining.”

Her gaze softened slightly, a slight bit of anxiety leaving her. He was just about to let her go when she licked his hand.

Quirking his brow, he met her gaze steadily.

She licked him again.

Chuckling softly, he released her mouth and wiped his hand off on his pants.

“So I bared _my_ soul,” she said. “Tell me your story.”

“You ever hear of the Sierra Madre?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed. “It sounds familiar.”

“It’s a pre-war casino. Overrun with glitching hologram security systems and humans turned animals that have lost all capacity to reason, and it’s coated in a crimson red cloud that corroded and yet preserved everything midway to dilapidation.” He swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of the skin on his neck. “Followed a broadcast to play the pawn in a madman’s treasure hunt. He enjoyed explosive leashes, rather than the promises of fortune of the broadcast.”

For a good five minutes, they were both silent.

“That’s horrible,” Natalie whispered.

This time, Greyson did jump. “How much—”

“I woke up around the second time Colt interrupted you,” she answered. “I’m terribly sorry you had to go through that.”

Colten half snorted, half huffed before padding over to the opposite side of the room, where their packs sat, tossed there some point in the night. She rummaged through it, ignoring both Greyson and Natalie’s confused stares, then emerged victorious with another bottle of whiskey and a bottle of wine.

 “Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into?” she asked, grinning mischievously.

“Oh God,” Natalie moaned, “we’re going to die, aren’t we?”

“Oh stop it, Nat,” Colten laughed. “I know how to restrain myself.”

Greyson quirked his brow. “You absolutely do not.”

She laughed and took a swig from the whiskey; when Natalie sat up and held her hand out expectantly, Colten shook her head. “Not until you put on your clothes, princess. We’re going to do Vegas up the way it was meant to be.”

Her eyes glittered. In any other situation, on any other face, those fierce brown eyes flaming like firecrackers would spell disaster and danger, and he’d have already fled, but on Colten they just promised one hell of a good time. He figured there wasn’t much harm to be found in indulging in sin and vice in the city dedicated to it. 

* * *

 They ended up being tossed out of one casino after another as Natalie’s quick hands, Greyson’s honed skill, and Colten’s natural luck all made short work of the tables and slots. Each time, they were drunker than before. First they hit the Atomic Wrangler, where the Garret twins had presented them, in total, with beer, whiskey, absinthe and a rum and Nuka cola. More than enough liquor to ensure they were already three sheets to the wind once they made their way to Gomorrah, and the wine that _they_ had given as prizes for their patronage and gambling had gone a long way in keeping them drunk. The Tops had made with the drinks right quick, probably in hopes that inebriation would make them screw up. If anything, they improved as they drank. At least he figured, because eventually they were barred from gambling there too. By the time they hit the Ultra-Luxe, it was a miracle that they were alive, let alone walking around. Greyson was sure that had they not waved around their winnings in the masked freaks’ faces, they wouldn’t have been able to come in at all. That said, it didn’t take long for the White Gloves to kick them out regardless of how much caps they could chuck at them.

After that, it had been a matter of feet before a couple of NCR soldiers grabbed them and wrangled them into separate cells at the NCR military police headquarters.

Greyson might have been more upset if it weren’t for the fact that they’d made a pretty penny, or pretty cap as it were, flushing each casino on the strip. Even if he was never allowed to gamble in any of them again, or even step foot in the Ultra-Luxe again, he found himself surprisingly okay with that possibility.

Judging by the soft snoring coming from Natalie’s cell, she’d passed out; Colten didn’t snore, but as the divisions between the cells were merely iron bars, rather than cement, he could see that she too had checked out.

His head spun and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be passing out soon too, but before he could follow his friends’ examples, a hard jawed, hard eyed NCR soldier marched – no exaggeration, she fucking _marched_ – up to his jail cell.  
“You’ve made a mess on the strip,” she barked the words.

He gave a sideways smile, not quite concerned. “Suppose we have,” he slurred. “What’s the punishment?”

“Forty eight hours in here,” she said, “or a small favor for the New California Republic.”

“Seems fair,” he deadpanned.

“The Kings are making a nuisance of themselves. Take care of them once you’re sober enough.”

Firmly, he stated, “My friends leave with me.”

“Fine,” she returned. “But that makes it two favors. Equal exchange.” Her lips curled at the words. Greyson wondered if her mouth really looked that odd, or if it was just because he was too drunk to think. He settled on ignoring it. “Fine,” he mimicked her sharp tone.

“Sleep it off,” she ordered, and with that she left him alone. Immediately, he fell back, dead asleep.


	20. Fas Est Et Ab Hoste Doceri

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Damocles had thought it funny, until the man had turned a vicious glare his way, one burning with promises that he didn’t quite want to realize. “Okay, okay, point taken. I have no sense of humor.”

That seemed not only to placate Tacitus, but also to amuse him, if the slight tilt to his mouth as he turned back around was any indication. He tried not to pat himself on the back too obviously. They continued in silence for a few feet more. Damocles counted their footsteps. Sand crunched underfoot. One, two, three, all the way up to fifteen. By then his boredom was all but intolerable, but he promised himself that once he hit one hundred he would break his silence.

Mostly because he had a feeling annoying Tacitus would end poorly.

Eighty-five steps after that, he said, “Legionaries tend toward machetes I've heard, but I noticed a few of those in Nipton had carried rifles. No handguns though, that I noticed. That must be part of it. It is one thing to use one’s own strength to tear open the flesh of an enemy, that I understand. But rifles and handguns I can’t seem to separate. Why allow a rifle, if not a handgun?”

Tacitus made an odd motion, running his palm over his face without bringing his hand into contact. At the last second, just before his thumb crossed his chin, he twisted his expression into an exaggerated snarl and flicked his wrist, pantomiming a small gun.

“Oh!” he cried as soon as the meaning became obvious. “For stealth operations, smaller firearms are acceptable. I see. Yes, that makes a great deal of sense. A great deal more than attempting hide a rifle during a pat down.”

It had to have been the way the sun glared or lingering concussion symptoms, but he could have sworn he saw that sharp edged smile that Tacitus had shown in Nipton.

“Now, on the topic of things prohibited to the Legion, I have to ask about medicine. I can’t say that poultice didn’t numb the pain, or that that bitter drink didn’t make my head that slightest bit foggy. So obviously, they still have some medicinal purpose, but the only reasons I can see to actively avoid chemical medicine and rely instead on herbs would be that either Caesar, despite being well-read and a previous member of an organization devoted to medicine and knowledge, doesn’t know how to mass produce these chems, or that he wants his army independent of all crutches – man-made, artificial medicines injected or swallowed and weaponry that reduces fighting from its most basic, primal to something distant and ineffectual.”

Tacitus offered a raised hand, showing two fingers raised.

“Ergo, the second option. I figured as much,” he chanced a soft laugh. “After all, without relying on pre-war recipes and formulae, you developed your own remedy for injured limbs that has proliferated throughout the wasteland. Ingenious, really. Necessity is the mother of invention. Who would have thought a fungus that grew from irradiated matter could offer salubrious medicinal effects?”

When Tacitus didn’t respond this time, Damocles let the matter drop for another thirty steps. Because he’d just said so much, and Tacitus had suffered it without so much as a glare, he decided to wait for two hundred steps to pass.

However, after forty-seven, he wondered how much farther they had to walk. He was starting to get dizzy and lightheaded again, plus the pain in his side was rapidly passing spectacular and veering into dangerous territories.

“I—We need to stop for a moment,” he said. Despite his words and the implication that he could keep going a little longer, he ground to a sudden stop. Tacitus did not stop, but he turned completely around so that he walked, or rather marched, backwards. His expression was solid and immovable. He reached out a hand and beckoned Damocles closer with short, fluttering movements of his fingers. Then, when Damocles merely started walking, Tacitus opened his palms before him fingers splayed so that his thumbs stood straight up, then rapidly closed them into fists and brought them firmly against his abdomen. He took that to mean faster.

Taking a deep breath and wincing as his cracked ribs protested, he squared his shoulders and hastened to catch up. The Legion accepted only perfection and this was merely one more method of weeding out the chaff and dross. After twenty steps, he found his rhythm once more and quickly caught up with Tacitus.

As soon as they matched paces, Tacitus brought his index finger to his mouth then arced it out, away from his body, then repeated it, this time bringing the same hand back as an open palm and brought it to rest against his other hand, also open palm. Judging by the lack of force behind the motions and, most noticeably, the presence of a sharp, satisfied grin, this was positive. He translated it as _Very good,_ though to be fair Tacitus could have just called him an absolute moron. He, however, was inclined to believe it was praise.

“Did you learn that language, or did you develop it yourself?”

He raised up a hand to chin height and wavered it, like a see saw, only with much more mobility.

“So a bit of both. I’d imagine it developed in bits and pieces. Maybe started as pantomiming and gesticulating as necessary, then filling in any gaps produced by lack of interaction or experience?”

A firm nod.

“That’s quite interesting. The grammar seems almost like it would be verbally, but I haven’t heard a definite particle, and I wonder how you’d conjugate certain words. Will, did, is.”

Rolling his eyes now, Tacitus waved his right hand that seemed very vulgar without even including his middle finger.

“Of course,” Damocles amended, “you could be speaking in very simple terms so that I, as someone who’s never seen anyone attempt to speak with their hands before, can understand you. Like ‘me Tarzan’ levels.”

That hand wave turned into a sharply raised index finger, which he took to mean that he’d hit the nail on the head. Or, perhaps, that he’d _fingered_ it correctly.

“Ah! You’ve even developed some idioms of your own. What does Caesar think of your language, I wonder? It would be invaluable for coordinating silently between groups within line of sight.”

The motions Tacitus made from there were far too rapid for Damocles to follow, but he gathered by the tension in his shoulders and the thin line he’d pressed his lips into that Tacitus was not pleased with its under utilization.

It occurred to him that Tacitus, despite his age and presumed battle experience, had likely been prevented from advancing through command ranks because of this.

Perhaps his curiosity was unhealthy and would result only in his death, but he asked, “Is there some damage done to your larynx or esophagus that prevents you from speaking? Or perhaps some damage done to Broca’s area?” He paused. “Or perhaps it is simply a choice, to remain silent.”

Tacitus raised up three fingers then tapped each tip with his opposite hand before pinching the third and drawing it to his chest.

“Then it’s your choice,” he interpreted. “I suppose the reason is personal to you, so I won’t ask you to explain, but if it’s caused you such issues and yet you persist, I’d imagine it’s an important reason.”

Satisfied, Tacitus nodded, and the conversation died once more. For once, he was glad to lapse into silence. Talking was growing more difficult, both between his tongue and his brain not making the proper leaps in thought. Damocles tried to ignore the heaviness to his limbs, pressing on for another fifty – he was quite proud of that – without stumbling. He managed to keep moving, but he couldn’t help tripping over his own feet, nor from breathing increasingly raggedly.

Tacitus came to an abrupt stop and reached out to stop Damocles.

Thumbs over lapping, other fingers clenched, he started with them pressed against his body before steadily pushing forward. _Steady_ , he translated. Waving a hand before Damocles’s face, he cycled between one, two and three fingers, clenching and unclenching, before settling on two fingers.

“Two,” he said, tongue suddenly thick and clinging to his words. “Ah, damn radscorpions.”

Tacitus frowned, expression severe. He brought his fingers together, thumb to his four fingers, then opened and closed them.

“I should have said something, huh?”

With a nod, he helped Damocles to sit down then searched through the pack for a vial of antivenom. Tacitus opened his own mouth and stuck out his tongue. Obligingly, Damocles mimicked him, only to gag as the other man all but shoved the whole thing down his throat.

Coughing, he pushed Tacitus away and worked on breathing despite the faint trickle of liquid antivenom down his throat. It worked immediately though, clearing his mind and lessening the effects of the venom lingering in his veins. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was, nor how numb his extremities had been, until he suddenly had warmth and sensation return to them.

All the same. “I get it,” he snapped, “this is punishment for not saying something sooner, but must you force me to _deep throat_ the damn vial?”

Most surprisingly, Tacitus burst into laughter. Or, at least that’s what he assumed it was. Tacitus didn’t laugh with sound, but it was still noticeable. He threw his head back, put his whole body into it, opened his mouth and let a harsh, raspy exhalation serve as uproarious laughter.

Despite his previous irritation, he found himself laughing too.

Tension left him and he readily took the hand Tacitus offered.

The rest of the trip, he spoke frequently about many topics, as they came to mind, and in his own way Tacitus responded; in what felt like no time at all, they could see the Cove down the hill.

A scout approached them, nodding to Tacitus before he spoke. “Ave. Caesar awaits your report from the NCR Outpost.”

Tacitus brought the tips of his fingers to his mouth, the hand flat, then lowered it in an arc before him. Damocles had noticed that it seemed to be some form of thanks, but the slight sneer and cold gaze almost made Damocles laugh. Once he understood the signs, the minute differences offered such greater depth to their meanings.

As they walked down to the Cove, Damocles whispered under his breath to Tacitus, “If they understood everything, how ever could you mock them without their notice?”

This close to fresh recruits, Tacitus didn’t laugh, but he gave Damocles a sideways glance complete with faintly upturned lips, sharing the joke and amusement.

“Next, to see Caesar, yes?”


	21. Nec Spe Nec Metu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Valor and Noble sniff out Tracer and his agenda. When the NCR mounts an assault on the prison, and Tracer attempts to escape, Valor and Noble capture him and force him to stay with them (n + v, not the pg). Along the way, they run into Fred and Pyro and blackmail/coerce them also into staying.]]

* * *

 

unfortunately this chapter is unwritten.

the sorrows and dangers of nanowrimo.

* * *

 


	22. Nisi Paria Non Pugnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Sixx and Lucky help diffuse the Boulder City situation; Sixx spares the Khans due to high expectations of the NCR. Maybe split longer Lucky+Sixx chapter and add to this one, or keep for pacing purposes? Who knows. That's Future Me's problem, and he's kind of a dick.]]

unfortunately this one is not completed either  
seriously i was focused on getting words down  
not going in order.  
save your judgements  
let he who is without sin cast the first stone  
...  
i need to listen to JCSS less


	23. In Leonis Latibula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: UNFINISHED DAMN IT COBB. Sixx and Lucky arrive in Freeside in the middle of a firefight. Axel and Crew are trying to settle things peacefully between the Kings and the NCR, whereas Grey and crew have been sent by the NCR to neutralize the Kings. Sixx proves to everyone that he is batshit crazy by wading into the thick of it to discuss a solution with both sides; not just crazy, but effective too. His antics buy enough time to reopen negotiations between King and the NCR.]]

If it hadn't been for his arrogance, he would be dead by now. As it was, Sixx just laughed in the face of death, flipped it off, kicked it in the balls for good measure and just kept on going, carving his way through the wasteland as if death never even tried stopping him. That was the only reason Lucky could think of that Sixx was still alive with all the insanity he willingly got himself mixed up in. He’d clawed his way out of a shallow ditch with two bullets in his head. He’d gathered a last minute militia of farmers to stand against hardened criminals. He’d strolled into Primm to finish what a full platoon of New California Republic soldiers hadn’t been able to. He’d beat the odds so many times, Lucky was sure he was due to pay up. And yet, not today. Sixx waded right into the thick of it, no matter who the gunfight was between.

Lucky had heard that Legionaries, recruits even as young as he was, were forced to be the front lines with terrible armor and poorly maintained weaponry. It was hard to survive, to put it lightly, and those who survived more than one battle were experienced, having survived a baptismal by gunfire, and rose through the ranks.

There was a reason people feared veteran legionaries. He had a feeling people should have used that same logic when thinking about Sixx before they made a mess that attracted him.


	24. Ille Mi Par Esse Deo Videtur

The wrinkles on Caesar’s face proved him to be mortal, but the man’s bearing was every bit like that of a god. He sat on his throne, half leaning, half propping himself up with his arm crossed over his knee. His gaze did not roam, and did not weigh heavily, caught on anyone one thing. He was alert, but relaxed. Perhaps that was due to the half dozen legionaries surrounding him on either side, Tacitus included, or perhaps it was the confidence of a man who had all but single-handedly unified fifty tribes under his banner.

Damocles tried hard not to be too obvious in the way he stared, but an amused smirk flickered across Caesar’s face and his own burned with embarrassment.

“So,” Caesar said. “This is the survivor of Nipton’s lottery, the one whose response to the massacre of their hometown was to _thank_ the Legion. The one who lead a single man assault on the New California Republic Outpost, killing over a dozen profligate troops.”

With each word out of Caesar’s mouth, spoken not with reverence but rather faint praise, Damocles felt more assured of himself; he didn’t question how Caesar knew these things, as the Frumentarii were the eyes and ears of the Legion and, as Vulpes had demonstrated in Nipton, more than effective.

“You have proven that you could be useful,” Caesar said, and Damocles did not miss the subtle emphasis he placed on ‘could’. He was still unproven, of course. Caesar waited for an answer, some sort of response, but without any hint of hesitation. He waited for Damocles to speak only as a courtesy he magnanimously offered, rather than a right given to Damocles. It was obvious the discrepancies in rank and power between him and Caesar, but he felt no bitterness for it.

Caesar had proven himself worthy of respect.

“How may I serve your Legion, Caesar?” he asked.

“I like the servile attitude,” he said, amusement tinging the words. “Tacitus.”

The legionary stepped forward at his leader’s summons.

“Tacitus. You will take this recruit and mold him into a fine addition to the Legion.”

Damocles watched with some measure of confusion that Tacitus stiffened at the announcement. The legionary did not seem opposed to following the order, but he also didn’t seem entirely surprised. Realizing that he was still far too unfamiliar with the other man to make any further determination, he let the matter drop and filed it away for inspection later.

In a tone of voice that made it quite obvious that he was already fully aware, Caesar asked, “Damocles, was it?” Caesar smiled, the expression wry, but not mocking, at least towards Damocles. “It suits you. Though I have to wonder, who is the king?”

“I would say the answer is two-fold,” Damocles said. The words tumbled from lips tilting and twisting with shared amusement at the eventuality of it all. “First, the New California Republic, the false republic built on failed pre-war antiquities. The so called bearers of peace and civilization who feed the weak and parasitic with the strength of its superiors.”

Travelling with Tacitus, it seemed, had loosened his tongue. Speaking about ideology he’d been forced to repress and ignore for years, surreptitiously cultivating it with books stolen from passing caravans and other ‘guests’ of Nipton, had also loosened his tongue, perhaps dangerously so.

“Next, House, hidden behind his gadgetry and machines. A being that bleeds oil and data, I will prove to all that he is still a mortal man and above all superannuated and fit for erasure from history. His city of lights and vice will become the Mecca of your empire, transformed to match the Rome of old.”

“You know of the Roman empire,” said Caesar. It wasn’t a question. His expression was thoughtful, though Damocles couldn’t say for certain whether that boded well for him.

Hesitant but not knowing why, he admitted, “I taught myself to read, with the books carried by travelling merchants and other comers to Nipton’s ‘hospitality’. I still can’t read Latin though, and the translations I’ve found of Horace and Cicero have been, well, incomplete.”

“You’re a scholar as well as a fighter then,” Caesar noted. “Intellect serves well on the battlefield and off it.”

“I’ll ensure it helps promote the Legion’s goals.”

The Son of Mars chuckled, the sound dark and dry. “I’m sure you will. Tacitus, begin training immediately. I want Damocles ready to fight immediately.”

Tacitus nodded his head in understanding of his task and strode forward to lead Damocles from the tent.

“Vale,” he said hastily. Hurriedly, the young man bowed before Tacitus could drag him from Caesar’s sight. As the canvas flap shut and he glanced back, Damocles could have sworn he saw Caesar grinning, all sharp edges.


	25. Si Vitam Puriter Egi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Fred, Pyro, Valor, Noble and Tracer head to Cottonwood Cove, where Valor and Noble intend to make a neat little profit from selling the others. Noble and Valor start to fight, at cross purposes over their prisoners; Valor holds no small hatred of slavery. ]]

whoops look at that i got lazy  
again  
look i met the word count goal  
never said i finished the damn thing


	26. Tutus Eris Tunc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Greyson heads back to tell the New California Republic the good news; Axel and crew disperse to report to King; this leaves Colten and Natalie on the strip, waiting; they witness Sixx head into the Tops, leaving Lucky outside to wait. All three bond rather quickly and decide to travel together. Without their companions' say-so. ]]

ugh

basically

from here for a while i just jumped around

its bad mate

just 

if you're interested in the story 

(which id be amazed by)

i've given the basic summaries so you can know what's gonna happen

but

if you want to wait for a little

i'll make it all pretty and flow better later

after i fix the fact i've burnt out writing

gotta recharge etc etc


	27. Aspectans Lacunae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Jackie accidentally finds Hidden Valley while running from Bark Scorpions (ran out of ammo). The Brotherhood, paranoid as they are, don't believe that she truly knows a Brotherhood paladin and so she is fitted with a bomb collar and forced to expel the ranger that had taken residence. She does so by first trying to convince him to leave with tales of Powder Gangers, but then gives up and smashes the radio once he leaves and then beats a hasty retreat to the bunker. Once free of the collar and sent out to find the holotapes, she instead tells Emma what a load of crazy the Brotherhood is.]]

obviously, spoilers abound if you decide to read the notes/summaries i've left


	28. Ardentisque Oculos et Animos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Tensions come to a head when Valor accidentally (or purposefully, who knows, not Fred (POV)) releases Fred, Pyro, and Tracer. However, when Noble actually fires on her, she grabs who she can -- Tracer -- and runs. ]]

fun fact

i also write code

so 

like whenever i use parentheses or hard brackets or any sort of fucking brackets i'm always super aware of them

and i always close them

because have you ever spent two hours looking for a single missing parenthesis? 

no?

that is hell. not fire and brimstone

just

fucking missing parenthesis.

or semi colons

god fucking semi colons;


	29. Otium Et Reges Prius Et Beatas Perdidit Urbes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Emma, Von, Jackie, Claud and Knox head out to find these tapes; the first location is the REPCONN facility, where Von's dumb luck overrules Emma's proficiency with machines.]]

i hate middles  
can you tell?


	30. Gutta Cavat Lapidem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Greyson gives his report and is told to investigate the water shortage; he returns to the rest of his crew to find that they will be following Lucky and Sixx. Skeptical, he demands to know where they are going and to what purpose; Sixx bluntly says he's looking to throw his own spark in this war. Vulpes makes himself known, offering the Mark of Caesar to Sixx. Sixx takes it, just to rid of Vulpes, and then visits House, alone.]]

i missed a metric fuckton of chapters a'ight? but i met the word count so yay?


	31. Exsecratum Vivendum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Berating herself the whole while, Valor hastily makes for the 188 Trading Post. Along the way, Tracer demands an explanation, and eventually, after they make camp for the night, she explodes and shows a more human, conflicted side. What no I'm not a fan of the "Not So Stoic" trope nope not one bit]]

there is nothing to do with excretions.

wonder if anyone here knows what the chapter titles say?

probably. it's a big internet.


	32. Sacram Aquam Bibete

Hax woke up tired. No surprise there. But, the day had begun and it was about time he crawled out of bed. First things first, he thought as he removed the bandaging from his hands. He didn’t look at them for long, moving over to the bathroom as soon as the necrotic flesh was allowed to breathe.

It was always a fun time, seeing himself in the mirror. His gaze locked on the flaking, cracked skin along his jaw. He gingerly ran his fingers over the flesh. His fingers caught and tore away strips of discolored skin. He didn’t touch it again.

_Dogmeat whines but he doesn’t look back, because he knows as surely as he knows the code, that if he glances back to his companions, back to safety, he will falter and fail. And he can’t allow that. For the sake of the wasteland and for everyone who lost everything to Project Purity, he has to step forward._

_“Take care of him,” he whispers, and swallows thickly. His Geiger counter screams at him with each step forward._ Turn back, turn back, danger! _He steps into the vestibule with shaking knees but steely resolve straightening his spine._

Swallowing, he tasted the memory of radaway and med-x on his tongue and hastily washed the dead skin off his hands. As gently as he could, touching as little as he could, he straightened his mess of hair. Thick, jet black, the sort of hair he’d inherited from his mother. He’d been so proud of it; his dad would ruffle his hair and tell him how much he looked like her. Strands came away, sticking to his rough fingers.

“Wonder if I could set up in the Underworld after all this is through,” he murmured, then didn’t think about it further. He wrapped up his hands with practiced precision and applied a salve to his face. Maybe it was snake oil, it probably was, considering who he bought it from, but he figured it couldn’t hurt.

Anderson wouldn’t be ready to start for at least a few hours, but once they started work on the water situation, there went the whole day, so he had to get a move on now.

_“There’s not much time,” he says. “Thank you, Fawkes. Take care of Dogmeat, will you?”_

_He tries not to think about Butch. How there are so many things unsaid between them, promises not kept._

_There is so much more to say, an entire lifetime, and he chokes on the words. He walksup to the control panel in the rotunda._ I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely. It was your mother’s favorite passage. _His father’s words snake through his mind like smoke, or a heavy dose of radiation. His fingers shake as he typed in the code._

Hax leaned over the sink, hands gripping tightly to the crumbling ceramic.

_The water begins to clear. His vision is turning colors, eyes hyper-sensitive and failing under an assault of lethal amounts of radiation. There’s a statue in the water. It’s the last thing he sees before the world melts away like a bomb going off._

He came back to himself with the bitter taste of bile on his tongue and watery vomit splattered in the sink. After half-heartedly rinsing the worst of it down the drain, using just enough to keep it from smelling like stomach acids, he exited the bathroom, contemplated then decided against grabbing his laser pistol and left the hotel room without so much as a second glance backwards.

The town of Westside was a prosperous one, now that he and Tom Anderson had figured out a way to siphon water from New California Republic pipes. Was it the best solution? Hardly, but the New California Republic was fallible and one of their faults included maligned priorities. The people of New Vegas were caravaneers and settlers and soldiers far from home; this made them numbers in the massive Republic, rather than people who lived and died by the whims of the greater nation.

The New California Republic was a damn sight better than the Legion, at least, but Hax didn’t think that meant much.

So what if Westside prospered thanks to a little stolen water? The New California Republic should have rationed its resources better, so that its people weren’t forced to such measures.

He ignored Dermot as he headed into the center of town. _Speaking of forced_ , he thought bitterly. It was no secret that Dermot was a slaver. Dermot, and Saint James. Just the man’s name made him sick.

There was nothing saintly about that son of a bitch.

Speaking of son of a bitches, Hax called out to Mean Sonofabitch once he caught sight of the supermutant. “Hey! Mean, how are you?”

“I goo,” the supermutant answered in his rough way of his. “You uh e’ee.”

It was such a shame what had happened to the supermutant. That was another thing the New California Republic had to improve at, being decent human beings to fellow sapients. “Yeah, I figured I should get started early. You know how Anderson gets, soon as he’s ready to work, we don’t stop until he says so.”

Mean Sonofabitch laughed heartily, and Hax fell in step with the much larger man.

“You know, Mean,” Hax said, as though it was only a passing thought and not something that haunted his dreams. “I used to have a friend like you.”

Mean glanced over at him. “Rebby?”

“Really. See,” he continued, course he was a bit more eloquent. No one had cut out his tongue and tortured him for sport.”

He could almost imagine what Fawkes would say if he saw him now. Something esoteric about fulfilling some sort of mysterious destiny, he was sure. Fawkes had been highly intelligent, more so than most humans even. He missed him.

“Course then there was also Uncle Leo. You remind me a lot of him too. Course, he was a staunch pacifist to the end. Pulled his ass out of danger one too few times.” Hax gulped. “He's dead."

“Oo o’ay?” The supermutant reached out and placed a heavy hand on Hax’s shoulder, stopping them walking.

He forced an airy laugh. “Oh yeah, totally fine. How’s the militia doing?”

Mean leveled him with a steady look, but the leather strap holding back his lips kept his expression from being anything more than inscrutable. “Sor’ons noosan’,” he garbled after a moment of silence. “O’ ‘o ‘eck beribiter. Lamab Bob ‘aw rabelers.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said. And a bit too quickly at that, since that odd look on Mean’s face intensified. “Just, you know, get a lay of the land. I’m pretty handy with a laser rifle too, don’t you know! More than just a tinkerer.”

With a noncommittal grunt from Mean, which Hax took as acceptance, the mismatched pair made their way to the front gates.

Sure enough, Klamath Bob stood on the high rise lookout SHELFWHATISTHEWORD, with binoculars in one hand and his service rifle in the other. “Got distracted chatting?” he teased gently. “From the looks of it, they ain’t raiders, but, way I figure it never hurts to keep wary.”

Hax climbed up to join Bob and held out his hand. “May I?”

“Knock yourself out, kiddo.” The other man handed over the binoculars.

Sure enough, in the distance to the DIRECTION, a small group of travelers approached the town. Six of them, which was rather unusual. Even most caravans averaged at most three. What was their payload, that they travelled in such a large group? Hopefully, this would mean nothing but good things, increased trade and therefore income to the town, but he had a feeling his luck wasn’t so good as to grant him that sort of break.

From what he could tell, it was five men and one woman, with one of the men no older than sixteen. They were well armed, though, with everything from conventional firearms to, interestingly, a shovel. Of all things.

“I’m going go greet our guests,” Hax said distractedly. “Usual signal?” Finally, he returned the binoculars to Bob, who in turn nodded.

“The slightest sign of trouble, run on back,” Bob ordered. “At least this way we can funnel them. Don’t go playing the hero.”

“Be carebul,” Mean intoned.

As if Hax would let these guys inside Westside if they turned out to have ill intentions.

That decided, he clambered down from the lookout post and out the gate to meet them halfway.

Up close, he felt even more uneasy and with each step increasingly glad that he’d thought to meet them outside of Westside. The group stopped short upon seeing him, save for one man. He figured that meant he was the leader, but he thought that the other man didn’t look like much. Granted, underneath that stitched and darned merc outfit could be coiled steel for muscles, but the man had the brightest, bluest eyes he’d only ever seen once before.

_“I’m so proud of you son,” the owner of the blue eyes says, and Hax’s heart shatters like glass._

“Welcome to Westside, strangers!” he called out. “Pleasure to meet you. What brings you out our way?”

“You don’t seem too pleased to see us,” the shovel carrying one said.

The woman quietly chided, “Colten, please do be silent.”

The leader didn’t let his gaze stray from Hax even once during the exchange. His eyes weighed him down like irons. “We’re just passing through,” he said. His voice was smooth, dangerously so. Familiarly so.

 _We are authorized to restore order and civility,_ the Augustus Autumn of his memory drawled, _by_ any _means necessary._

Shit, the two men even had the same faked smile and fierce look beyond the general pleasantries and charming twang.

“That’s great,” Hax said, returning the smile. “How about I show you around? Navigating a new place is so much easier when you’ve got a local to help out.”

Now, sure, he wasn’t exactly a local, but they didn’t need to know that, and the more cards he could keep close to his chest, Hax figured was better.

 “That’d be much appreciated,” the leader returned. There was a sharp edge to his voice, a tightness along his eyes and mouth that spoke volumes of his irritation. He looked like a feral animal wearing a human mask, one split second away from flying off the handle.

Hax tried not to show his discomfort about putting his back to this wild man too obviously, but judging by the worried look Bob gave him as he lead the group inside, he didn’t hide it nearly well enough.

“I’m just going to show these travelers through Westside,” he said to Bob. “If you see Anderson, let him know I may be a minute.”

“Créame,” the young kid said. “We’re just looking for some info and some supplies before we head back onto the road.”

“If you’ve got other obligations,” the leader piped up, pouncing on the opportunity, “we can find our way around, no problem.”

Sharply, Hax said, “I insist.”

They fell into silence after that a tense and unnatural silence that left him only time to kick himself for being so transparent. How anyone managed to manipulate anyone was his guess. It all made his head hurt.

The leader broke his silence. “Well, I for one think we’ve all got different ideas on what we want to do,” he said.

“Point me to anywhere I can get a drink,” the one with the shovel said, “and we’ll be out of your hair.” He gestured to the woman who’d silenced him earlier.  On the one hand, it would be easier to keep an eye on them if they were in a group. On the other hand, which was rapidly becoming more and more appealing, a smaller group was easier to handle and manage.

“Klamath Bob runs a liquor store, but he’s up by the gate, so you’ll have to go speak with him to buy any booze.”

“On it.”

The woman turned to Hax and smiled. She had a genuine smile, one that was like a breath of fresh air after the leader’s kept crawling along his skin. “Thank you very much for your help, sir. I’ll make sure she causes no trouble.”

Wait, she? That brute bearing a bloodied shovel is a woman? Well. Hax supposed he’d seen stranger.

Suddenly, the other man, with grey hair and a bandana around his neck, spoke up for the first time. “You mentioned someone by the name of Anderson. Tom, Anderson, if I’m correct?” he asked. “I’d like to speak with him.”

“He’s a busy man,” Hax said.

“Is there a time he’d be willing to answer some questions?” the kid asked. “He’s part of the reason we stopped here instead of Freeside, you know?”

The leader of the group shot the youngest a scathing look, but Hax didn’t think the kid saw it, or if he did he didn’t think too much on it.

“Hax!”

His eyes widened as the shit hit the fan and Anderson trotted up to him.

“Where’ve you been?” Anderson demanded, his tone a little frantic. _Who are these people?_ It demanded. _Are they a threat to the operation?_

“Just showing a couple guests around.”

The grey-haired man said, “Anderson. Can I ask you some questions?”

Tom tightened his jaw and glanced rapidly between Hax and the stranger. “Sure,” he agreed. Hax had to hand it to him, he didn’t even sound the slightest bit unnerved or nervous. “We can walk and talk.”

As he led the two strangers away, he looked back at Hax, silent orders in his gaze. Don’t screw this up, they all boiled down to. He had every intention of keeping mumb.

The leader of the now disbanded group watched his companions walk away with a disinterested stare before he turned it to Hax.

“I know about the co-op,” he said abruptly. “Every sordid detail. Including White.”

His heart stopped.

How? How the hell could someone know everything when Hax knew nothing about them? White had been covered up, best as Anderson and Hax could manage, which between the two of them was pretty damn well covered.

“I have my ways,” the man said enigmatically. “Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the fun way?”

He didn’t miss the way his hand trailed down to the pistol at his side. Hax hurriedly looked around, desperate for any sign of anyone nearby, but found none. There was a suppressor on the pistol, he could see that from here. No one nearby to hear and respond if this guy decided to open fire and run. They’d been idiots in how they handled this group.

“What’s the fun way?” he asked, wary of pissing off this man.

“Why, we go around in circles and try to outmatch each other’s wits, when we both know all that I need is you to follow me for a little while. Help me settle something. Besides, we do have a common enemy that we’d each love to kick in the balls.”

The man bounced from word to word, rapid fire like a machine gun. Hax swallowed thickly and slowly crossed his arms – sudden movements, he knew, would end poorly. “Who’s this common enemy?”

“Who the fuck else? Caesar.” The man made an exaggerated look of disgust. “Or Caesar, depending on how the fuck you want to pronounce it. Personally I love the look on the Legion bastard’s faces as I slaughter their beloved tyrant’s name. I’d love to see their faces when we completely neuter Cottonwood Cove.”

“And you want me to join you. Why.”

“You’re handy with tech and a plasma rifle, or so I’ve heard. The Van Graffs, at least, enjoy quite a bit of revenue from you, so I should hope you’re passable with energy weapons.”

In a split second, he weighed his options. Refuse, and probably die while the man fled to places unknown, all while carrying information that could unravel this operation and send Westide into ruin. Accept, and be shanghaighed into a suicide mission to take out as many Legion as possible before being hacked apart. Which, if he was being honest, was the far better option.

_Elder Lyons stands over his sick bed that was meant to be his death bed. Careful, he exhorts, but Hax doesn’t want to be careful anymore; not as he notices the deep furrows of worry in the elder’s forehead and the rings of exhaustion, not when he makes the mistake of looking over and seeing Sentinel Lyons hooked up to a dozen machines._

“Fine,” he bit out the agreement, but if the blue eyed stranger before him noticed or cared about his bitterness and vitriol, he made no sign of it.

He did, however, remove his hand from his pistol and wave Hax to follow him. “We’ll get you a weapon on the way,” he said. “And you’ll say your goodbyes now. Greyson ought to be finishing up with Anderson now.”

Hax followed, feeling oddly like he was walking into the rotunda again. He glanced down to his left arm, even though he’d removed the Pip-Boy a few years back. He imagined he could still hear the Geiger counter all the same. _Danger, danger, danger,_ it warned.

It wasn't radiation this time at least.


	33. Clamo Strages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Damocles, now fully under Tacitus's tutelage, has begun to translate the man's silences as well as his hand gestures; the two legionnaires launch a raid on Ranger Station Charlie.]]

not gonna lie

i was looking forward to writing this one so bad

but life

and i will eventually but i have no energy so

later

future me can do it

he's kind of a dick anyway


	34. Tempus Edax Rerum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Having earned King's favor, they decide they like Freeside and will remain there for a while. They do, however, at least make a trip to the Strip to enjoy themselves. Basically this is for pacing purposes. You just reintroduced your knight of Cerberus, plus you've set up Stella.]]

yeah   
pardon my notes that talk to myself or talk in tropes  
that's a thing that happens.  
frequently


	35. Cede Repugnanti...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note: Fred and Pyro are now slaves of the Legion. Noble is furious with themselves and their sister and intends to follow her wherever she may go.]]

i had a lot of fun with the chapter titles not gonna lie  
put six years of latin to good use  
writing up dog latin for a shitty fanfiction  
are you proud of me ma??


	36. Cecendo Victor Abibis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes: Valor announces that she intends to leave the Mojave and that she should have done so years ago. Tracer declares he is coming with, because he still has a bounty on her damn it. She speaks wistfully of Zion and so they head that way. ]]

lots of characters   
lots of plots  
why

past me is a dick too


	37. Corruptio Optimi Pessima Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Emma returns with the tapes and from speaking with the scouts. Now, frustrated by the fact she's been reduced to their errand girl, she demands an explanation of McNamara. She asks about the filtration systems, the virus loaded server, etc. Basically, why has everything gone to hell? ]]

i hated this thread line even when i was plotting it out, gotta say  
only started liking it later in it  
when i started messing around with the characters  
liked von and knox's interactions especially


	38. Nova Prata Est Omnis Divisa In Partes Tres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; The group discusses their next move. A group of six wastelanders descending upon Cottonwood Cove could send the wrong message, Mark of Caesar or no, but they would still be woefully outnumbered. Thus, they split the difference. Several will wait near or in Cottonwood Cove while Lucky and Sixx would go into the Fort proper. Lucky mentions Boone and that he could be useful, and offers to go get him. With it decided that Colten and Lucky would go retrieve Boone to snipe for them, rest of the group waits in the campground over the Cove. ]]

fun fact  
las vegas translates  
somewhat  
to the fields or the meadows  
according to what i've read and my faulty memory of that

also i love caesar  
julius caesar

not edward sallow.

both have a gorgeous way of writing/speaking though not gonna lie


	39. Pyx Lax Dax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Noble heads north at a breakneck pace, chasing any rumors of Valor they can find. They carve a swath of destruction through the Mojave as they go, raiding small settlements in the dead of night like a terribly violent thief. They are only a couple steps behind. Be very very careful about how you pace this.]]

if you see all lowercase in the story box  
that's just me  
rambling on  
you're free to skip, as always


	40. Sic Vita Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note; Lucky and Colten arrive in Novac. Lucky then weedles Boone into joining with the promise of killing Legionnaires. It's made obvious to Boone that he'll have to wait for the signal before firing. All agreed, they prepare to make their way to the Cove, but then Ranger Andy asks them to check on Station Charlie on their way.]]

tell the rambler  
tell the gambler  
oh tell them all that  
god's gonna cut you down

i'm still looking forward to this chapter, even though it'll be a difficult one 

this and the next few are all very important and need to be handled with the proper care   
(hence why i left them for after nano)


	41. Sapienti Sat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note: Hearing enough about Hardin and McNamara, Claud decides they're both idiots but that McNamara might at least listen to reason if given the chance. He mentions this to Emma, who has heard enough rumors of a scribe named Veronica to want to find her. They all head out. ]]

i didn't count my notes in my word count  
i'd leave this blank, if i could, and have this offer a more accurate word count, but   
c'est le vie


	42. Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note; Fred and Pyro join up hesitantly with a captured Ranger and the Weatherby family. They're both petrified, especially of Damocles and Tacitus who strut about the place. ]]

i should have titled this 'plot plot plot' because  
mother of god  
so much  
so much setting up  
basically all the difficult scenes or chapters that set up major plot threads, i left for when i'd have more time  
but no energy and no creative spark


	43. Luctor no Mergor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Lucky obviously has a minor meltdown upon seeing the camp and seeing the tapes. Colten awkwardly tries to help him and only ends up making this worse; Lucky self-soothes and compartmentalizes along the way back to the Cove. ]]

i see blood and destruction, our elimination  
because of one man  
blood and destruction because of one man  
because because because of one man  
our elimination because of one man...


	44. Mundus Vult Decipi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greyson intends to steal a set of Legionnaire armor. Once Boone, Lucky and Colten arrive, he tells Boone not to shoot him, please, and he ties a red bandana to his machete and rifle to help differentiate. He sneaks into camp in the dead of night, dons the armor, and waits in position for the morning.

My mind is clearer now  
At last all too well  
I can see where we all soon will be  
If you strip away  
The myth from the man  
You will see where we all soon will be...


	45. Sed Terrae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Tracer suggests they hide, rather than attempt to outrun Noble, for the millionth time. Desperate, she caves and they hide under an overhang. However, there are a number of Golden geckos nearby and Valor is bitten in the leg. Tracer assumes she would be angry with him, but she's just so hurt and angry at Noble that she breaks down. Tracer is not prepared for this. ]]

See my eyes, I can hardly see  
See me stand, I can hardly walk  
I believe you can make me whole  
See my tongue, I can hardly talk  
See my skin, I'm a mass of blood  
See my legs, I can hardly stand  
I believe you can make me well


	46. Gordios Desmos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Greyson is in the Cove already. Colten and Hax go down with Lucky and Sixx. Natalie remains up in the campground with Boone, ready to release the lock on the barrels if everything goes south. Lucky and Sixx go into the Cove with the Mark of Caesar.]]

every one of fifty thousand  
would do whatever you'd ask him to  
keep them yelling their devotion  
but add a touch of hate.


	47. Ulula Cum Lupis

Tacitus had a look on his face, which Damocles translated as something like _Considering I have my hands coated with Profligate gore and brains, you had better grab me a wet cloth to wash with._ Of course, the other Legionary stared dumb founded at Tacitus.

Damocles bit his tongue. No wonder Tacitus found maintaining his silence so irritating. It was as though one else bothered paying attention to anything but words, rather than behavior, posture, facial cues.

 _How did you survive more than half a battle against profligate troops?_ Damocles wondered. His lip curled in frustration.

Then Tacitus swung his arm, splattering the idiot with the fresh blood and viscera.

Otho, who’d been watching the events unfold and keeping his distance, cringed. Some part of Damocles wanted to as well, but mostly he stared in rapt fascination as the legionary deferred to Tacitus and quickly fetched him a wet cloth. As Tacitus turned away and cleaned off his hands, he smirked.

 _Serves him right,_ that smile said. _I demanded it nicely._

Damocles was inclined to agree. It was the legionary's fault for being pigheaded and dumb enough not to pay attention. When someone held out their gore streaked hands, you offered them a towel. That was just being decent.

Now, throwing blood in their face was cruel, but it was necessary. And cathartic, probably. He was actually quite glad that Tacitus didn't seem disinclined to his company.

"Where next?" he asked.

His gaze darted to Siri's tent.

"Ah yeah. We ran out of healing powder, didn't we?"

The look he gave was amused, at least, if dry. _Using it all on you,_ it said.

"Yes, and I appreciate you not allowing me to bleed out," he answered wryly. They started walking. "So, is that frequent? Legionaries not understanding you, not comprehending basic gestures, that is. Not busting the skull of a profligate with your bare hands."

 _Far too frequently_ , he signed, all sharp movements and barely concealed irritation.

Siri glanced between them like a startled dog. It was empowering, to say the least, to have someone fearful of him, to grant him respect when in Nipton, all he'd been given was flak and ridicule; being an intellectual in a backwards town certainly had its drawbacks.

Tacitus brought his fists together, stacking them over each other, and mimed grinding them together, then he opened one and clenched his fingers.

Siri, it seemed, was smarter than that legionary. Or at least a quicker learner. "Here," she said, passing over a small package of healing powder. Her hands shook.

That filled his chest with… something. Eager to rid of it, he swallowed and inspected the powder. “What, couldn’t spare more?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding suspiciously like a whimper. “It’s all I have.”

Tacitus scowled, his furrowed brow reading clearly. _Really_ , it said. His gaze trailed over her shoulder, locked on a pile of xander root.

Damocles ordered, “Make more then.”

“I’ve run out of broc flower,” she protested.

Blinking rapidly, Damocles processed this information. “You mean to tell me,” he said slowly. Each word fell carefully, slotting into place for quite the kick to the teeth. “That you’ve run out of broc flower before you’ve run out of xander root. Am I understanding this correctly?”

She only nodded. It took him a minute to realize that she did so because she feared him. Tacitus had the right of it, it seemed. Staying silent or even simply quiet scared people.

“Siri,” he drew out her name. A quick glance to his peripheral vision showed that Tacitus had taken a half step back to watch this unfold, but actually looked somewhat intrigued by the proceedings. “Were you not the healer of your tribe?”

“I was training to be,” she said softly. Her eyes flickered with fear, no doubt worried that she would be reprimanded – or worse – for correcting him.  

“Good job, genius,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The ratio ought to be one to one. Alterations will result in drastically less effective medicine. Try that from here, and you’ll see an increase in both volume and potency.”

“Y-Yes sir,” she stammered.

When he turned to look at Tacitus full on, he noticed a small smile, an enigmatic thing. He couldn’t quite understand it, even after the leaps and bounds he’d made in translating them.

It seemed almost self-satisfied and, most surprising, proud. He felt his own pride swell in his chest as he realized that Tacitus was proud of _him_ and _his_ accomplishments.


	48. Non Semper Erit Aestas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Here Lucky and Sixx split from Colten and Hax. Sixx and Caesar have a riveting discussion that ends with Caesar ordering Sixx and Lucky to disable whatever's below the weather station, or else. He laughs that it's stupid to bring your enemy hostages. Lucky and Sixx make their way into the bunker and, finally, Lucky meets the man who Sixx believes in so strongly as to throw away the Mojave for. Sixx asks House if he needs the Cove for anything. House says no. ]]

try not to get worried

try not to turn onto

problems that upset you oh

don't you know that

everything is alright yes

everything is fine


	49. Sanctum Moriendum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Natalie is getting restless and worries. Boone tells her not to worry, that patience is key for situations like this. Basically, Boone being uncharacteristically yet surprisingly characteristically nice.]]

while you live  
your troubles are many  
poor new vegas  
to conquer death you only have to die  
you only have to die


	50. Ultra Posse Nemo Obligatur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Vonnegut, Knox, Claud, Jackie and Emma arrive at the 188 Trading post. Von attempts to be discrete, but Knox throws that out the window and asks for a woman named Veronica. Veronica is understandably cagey about some strangers knowing her name -- and that she's a brotherhood Scribe to boot, but Emma at least helps mitigate this, being a paladin. ]]

should I bring him down  
should I scream and shout?


	51. Flectere Si Nequeo Superos...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note; Noble finds the remnants of their camp near the geckos and, emboldened, keeps up the search. They are pissed and betrayed, so they feel justified in hunting down their sister. They are still unsure whether they can bring themselves to kill Valor, however, and this shows their first sign of hesitation. ]]

these sordid kinds of things are coming hard to me  
it's taken me some time to work out what to do  
i weighed the whole thing up before i came to you  
i have no thought at all about my own reward  
i really didn't come here of my own accord

just don't say i'm--


	52. Ancheronta Movebo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Lucky and Sixx activate the robots, but lie to Caesar. As they leave, Tacitus watches them and Lucky gets chills. Lucky, Colten, Hax and Sixx are able to hide out in the camp to wait for nightfall and Greyson to return. ]]

why are we the prophets?   
why are we the ones?  
who see the sad solution  
know what must be done  
i have no thought at all about my own reward  
i really didn't come here of my own accord  
just don't say i'm --


	53. Exeant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Greyson stealths through the camp to pickpocket the key off Canyon Runner. He frees the slaves in stages, one at a time, through weak points in the legion's defenses. Once the last slave is on their way, Greyson throws his helmet into the air in clear view and breaks out into a run.]]

if you knew the path we're riding  
you'd understand it less then i


	54. Fac Fortia Et Patere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Hax shows himself to be pretty handy with a laser rifle, though he can't hope to match Boone's skill, and idly wonders if Greyson is brilliant or just an absolute fool. Greyson doesn't arrive at camp, instead going straight to keep the legion from finding the rest of the crew, so they pick off who they can. ]]

look at all my trials and tribulations  
sinking in a gentle pool of wine  
don't disturb me now  
i can see the answers  
till 'this evening' is 'this morning'  
life is fine


	55. Stamus Contra Malum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Tracer, as he tends to Valor's wounds, is horrified to realize that he's becoming attached to her; it's most likely because she isn't his captor anymore -- stopped being so when they fled -- and he sees her human qualities. He still lampshades it as possibly a form of Stockholm's syndrome. Noble finds them. ]]

every time i look at you i don't understand  
why you let the things you did get so out of your hand  
you'd have managed better if you'd had it planned


	56. Deus Quem Vult Punire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note; Emma and crew start on I Could Make You Care; Jackie thinks it’s a load of Bullshit and they should cut their losses, but agrees just to make Emma happy.]]

why waste your breath   
moaning at the crowd?  
nothing can be done to stop the shouting  
if every tongue was still the noise would still continue  
the rocks and stones themselves   
would start to sing


	57. Orbo Ad Chao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note; Lucky and Crew make their way to the irradiated NCR outpost (Searchlight, right?) and help out there; Sixx flagrantly approves of House and says he's just cleaning up their mess; all the same, the commander is thankful and amazed that they gave the Legion what for. Mostly, Sixx is gladhanding. He's good with politicking too. Don't let him fool you. ]]

and next the room was full   
of wild and angry men


	58. Post Nubila Phoebus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; incomplete chapter. Greyson runs all the way to fucking Freeside; understandably, he is exhausted by the end of this and collapses in the Atomic Wrangler -- in what he assumes is his room, but is in fact rented to Axel and Crew. Grace talks Marlene out of feeding on him and Screwdriver out of robbing him. Of course, this chapter also changed some as I wrote it.]]

“I need it,” Marlene hissed. Grace reeled back from the desperation in her voice. She sounded only barely human, need tearing her voice, turning it into something unrecognizable. “I need it damn you!”

Twisting and writhing, bucking like an animal, she fought against Steve’s grip like it was a death sentence as he forced her to her knees, then bowed her neck down, his whole weight struggling to restrain her.

Axel, who’d lingered by the doorway, slowly crossed the gap and knelt down in front of her. His gaze flickered between Grace and Steve, but she couldn’t place the emotions in his eyes, save for a dark determination.

"It started with Med-X," Axel said without preamble.

All eyes locked onto him, all questioning. Marlene curled her lip as she glared at him.

"Fucked up my leg while scavenging,” he continued. “Some asshole decided that his fifteen bottle caps and some stale as hell fancy lads snack cakes were worth protecting with a goddamn bear trap. Eventually crawled my way back to the temple -- Temple of the Union, you ever heard of it, Capital girl? Passed out the whole fucking way, because it bears repeating: Mother fucking bear trap.

"Turns out, med-x, pre-war, the docs didn't like handing it out the way they do today. Too addictive. And they certainly didn't use the damn stuff on fourteen year olds. There used to be these medicines, anti-inflammatory drugs, that reduced swelling and pain without all that fucking addiction-inducing business.”

Marlene slowed her struggling. Her eyes grew wider and wider, becoming saucers. Grace just wondered where this all was coming from, how Axel knew so much about pre-war medicinal practices, and why her stomach twisted with the mention of the Temple of the Union.

“Guess we lost the tech for that after the bombs fell,” Axel sighed. “Point is, the doc had to piece together my leg with wonderglue and a prayer -- okay, slight exaggeration, but you get the damn point -- and he dosed me up with enough med-x I couldn't feel a goddamn thing and, shit, I liked that. Loved it, even. I still hadn't gotten over my mom's death, even after three years. Raiders, you know. My parents were escaped slaves from Paradise Falls, you see, and the bastards there don’t like losing ‘property’. Instead of capturing any of us, the raiders ended up killing some of us. My mum They ended up fucking her, beating her, murdering her – not necessarily in that order, mind you, goddamn pieces of shit. Fuck, I was a stupid kid, you know? I watched the whole damn thing. I was eleven, too young to do anything but hide and get a goddamn front fucking row seat to watching my family get slaughtered and do some slaughtering themselves. So of fucking course I kept saying it hurt, and Doc would give me more med-x, because he believed me maybe or maybe he was just fucking tired of listening to me scream my brains out at night."

He paused, made sure she was listening. She wasn’t the only one. For herself, that unpleasant twisting in her gut was now an uncontrollable writhing, a revelation on the edge of her mind ready to uproot her world view. Her parents had been slaves of Paradise Falls, had escaped to the Temple of the Union after she was taken away from them. She darted her gaze to Screwdriver, and the look in his eyes, haunted with creeping knowledge, matched how she imagined her own to look.

"Then he stopped giving me it,” Axel said. “He finally caught on that I was just a fucking junkie I guess. So I started stealing it. A dose of it here and there, or two or three. Or I took it off the corpses of the raiders that we killed because they were still trying to fucking enslave us again. That got me started on jet. Fuck, mixing jet and med-x is still my poison of choice. Keeps me alert, keeps me numb. Then three years after, my dad died. Took a fucking buckshot to the face. There is no recovering from that. His head turned into jelly, with little bits of skull everywhere. It was awful.

"Me, I was hell to deal with. I started taking psycho laced buffout, or combining jet with mentats. You ever seen someone hyped up on mentats and jet? Fucking whirlwind. Even I didn’t want to have to deal with me like that. Between losing him and dealing with everyone treating me like I was fucking _broken_ – I wasn’t fucking broken, just a little bit fucked up mentally -- I had to leave. Canterbury, of course, was right out; it was just too damn close. I tried settling down in Megaton, I really fucking did, but the town was just so goddamn small.  Sure, me and Leo sometimes huffed jet together or did med-x, but the whole town knew what was going on, and it’s a whole new level of low to see someone glaring at you like you’re nothing more than your drugs of choice. Plus there was this Mauricio bounty hunter type guy who I was sure was on to me. Didn’t know if he was one of the good guys, or Talon Company sort of bounty hunter. So I left, ran with a guy named Jericho, and that was okay.  
“You know? It feels good to be around people as god fucking awful as you are, makes you feel less lonely about that gaping abyss inside you, the voids where morals should be. But then Jericho got homesick or some shit and returned to Megaton. Like hell I was going back. I set up nearby Springvale. Met these assholes here,” Axel jerked a thumb at Grace and Screwdriver, “and the rest is history.”

By this point, Marlene’s breathing had evened out, losing its animalistic surges and heaviness, to match something much more natural. She stared at Axel with wide eyes, obviously hanging on his every word.

“Know why I just told you all that shit?” Axel asked.

Mutely, Marlene shook her head.

“Because I understand what it’s like to hunger for something, hunger for it like a goddamn missing limb. Something maybe not good for you, or for those around you. Something maybe you wish you didn’t want, didn’t want to feel like you needed so bad. Because not a one of us is bound by any blood except what we spill protecting each other. We’re a damn family, and like it or not you’re part of it now too, which means you can depend on us instead of trying to play the whole lone fucking wolf act.”

Marlene, her pretty green eyes turned red from tears brimming once more, gave him a smile shaky with relief. Grace, for her own part, felt vaguely like she was about to pass out as she stared at the man she now realized was her brother.


	59. Vivamus Atque Odiamus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Damocles and Tacitus hunt down the escaped slaves. It goes poorly. For the slaves at least.]]

i have been spattered   
with innocent blood  
i shall be dragged through the slime and the mud  
i have been spattered   
with innocent blood  
i shall be dragged through the slime and the slime and the slime and the mud!


	60. Deos Fortioribus Adesse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Valor begs Noble to let her and Tracer go, but she refuses, forcing her hand. Valor shoots to kill, and lands a mortal blow between her eyes. ]]

then  
i was inspired  
now  
i'm sad and tired  
after all i've tried for three years  
seems like ninety   
why then am i  
scared to finish what i started  
what you started  
i didn't start it!


	61. Quidquid Latine Dictum Sit Altum Videtur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; The group splits to let Boone return to Novac, but Sixx offers a bed at the Lucky 38 whenever Boone wants to stop by. ]]

you've got the wrong man lady   
i don't know him  
and i wasn't where   
he was tonight  
never near the place


	62. Ut Supra Sic Infra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Steve interrogates Grey, who is understandably confused as to his location, and only once he's cleared of suspicion does Screwdriver ask him about Hax -- that is, James jr. Grey doesn't know a James jr. but he recognizes Hax from the description; he asks why they want to know, and Axel is cryptic and vague, only for Grace to state outright that they want to thank him for his help.]]

i only ask things I'd ask any superstar  
what is it that you have got that puts you where you are?  
i am waiting   
yes I'm a captive fan  
i'm dying to be shown that you are not just any man


	63. Nenikekamen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Numbly, Valor tells Tracer he can leave; he does not. She can't understand why, but her narration makes it obvious that regardless she appreciates his company. He suggests they continue on to Zion, to settle there. She is so relieved, really, but she's still too numb to realize it.]]

tell the rabble to be quiet  
we anticipate a riot  
this common crowd is much too loud


	64. Iustitia Omnibus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Tacitus and Damocles return to Cottonwood Cove to find the place irradiated to hell; they hastily seek an alternate route to the Fort, using a makeshift raft. Once there, Caesar is furious and ranting. ]]

we have no king but caesar!  
we have no king but caesar!  
we have no king but caesar!


	65. Esse Quam Videi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Lucky and company reunite with Greyson, and Hax recognizes Axel and Crew immediately. The former is sedate, just thankful for a successful mission, but the latter is a mixture of anger born of worry and overwhelming relief and gratitude. Hax is touched that they traveled this far just for him. ]]

sleep and i shall sooth you   
calm you and anoint you  
myrrh for your hot forehead


	66. Kakos Aner Makrobios

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; While the rest of the crew waits in a nearby bunker, Emma, Claud and Jackie return with evidence and suggestions to improve the Brotherhood; in the face of McNamara's continued obstinacy, however, Emma loses her temper and leaves in a huff, declaring the Mojave Charter all but fit for dissolution and sterilization. Jackie follows her out, leaving Claud behind and unprotected. ]]

that's strange for i i'm sure i saw you with him  
you were right by his side  
and yet you denied


	67. Pathei Mathos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; unfinished chapter ahoy. Axel convinces (wheedles) Hax to stay with them. Lucky and Crew keep going on to the Lucky 38, where Greyson collapses in an exhausted heap once more, Nat starts up a game of caravan with Colten and Sixx (who doesn't know how to play), and Lucky sequesters himself away in the bathroom to break down in tears.]]

Lucky figured there had to be a great deal of history between Hax and the group led by the man who was more scar tissue than anyone else he’d ever seen. He wasn’t about to poke his nose in, because frankly he couldn’t be bothered. He listened idly to the conversation. The words washed over him like waves.

“Jun- Hax, you have to stay with us. Where the hell do you get off running off like, shit, Cinderella or something?”

“Did I leave behind a glass heel?”

“Thank fuck no. Aqua Pura’s doing good work, so thanks for that, but for fuck’s sake you bastard, you could have –“

Here he tuned out the rest of Axel’s rant.

Greyson swayed next to him, leaning against him. Lucky wondered if he realized it, or if he was too tired to think that coherently.

Lucky felt maybe he was like that too.

His gaze roamed across the collected group, briefly making notes about them all. Small flashes of emotion or words or images or sounds that came to mind upon first glancing, and they all melted together to crash down on him in sickly waves.

Greyson, smoke tinged and liquor-laced.

Colten, blood noses and bruised knuckles.

Natalie, silk and lace and small knives.

Hax, mysteries and fresh, running water, clearing away grime.

Axel, jumbled words and expletives.

Steve, hard eyes and clever tongues.

Screwdriver, ever wary, ever watching.

Marlene, smiles with too many too sharp teeth.

Grace, demure, gentle, feminine, nails filed to points to claw out eyeballs.

And Sixx. Sixx was everything. Firm, steady, a rock in a whirlwind.

“We ought to be headed on out now,” Sixx said. His gaze was heavy on Lucky, laying him bare with just a brief look. His passing glances spoke louder than a bomb.


	68. Exitus Acta Probat

Damocles shivered as Tacitus brought him before Caesar. The Praetorian guards on either side of the man who could be barely considered merely a man, the Son of Mars, carefully stood arranged so that while they were present, they offered enough privacy for a conversation.

He almost shivered again, wondering what secret he would be privy to, but he reigned in his traitorous nerves so as to remain composed before Caesar.

“Ave,” he said, saluting the man as Tacitus did, hand clenched in a fist and brought to rest over his heart.

Caesar looked him over, gaze flicking from head to toe. Again, Damocles fought the urge to shiver. It was unnerving to watch someone strip away the shells and masks inherent to dealing with society, post-apocalyptic or not, and expose the frail, weak ego that lay curled up behind its defenses.

Sensing the tacit test laid before him, he stood straighter and met Caesar’s gaze steadily. The other man’s eyes darted to the right, flicking to Tacitus, before returning to him.

“Tacitus here claims you have some medical experience.”

For a moment he was silent, confused, because this was apropos of nothing. But then he remembered.

HOW DO I DO TUMOR. CAESAR HAS A TOOMAH BUT WHAT DO. HOW DO I DOCTOR. MAYOCLINIC IS NO HELP. WHY OH WHY DID I MAKE YOU A MEDICAL PROFESSIONALISH? WHY DON'T YOU JUST STICK A BANDAID ON IT. THAT WILL WORK RIGHT? RIGHT. HERE YOU GO CAESAR, HAVE A IRONMAN BANDAID. ALL BETER. HELP.

The way Caesar’s leg dragged. The headaches. The absence seizures. He pursed his lips.

“The symptomatology matches pretty well with a brain tumor,” Damocles said softly. “But without magnetic resonance imaging, I can’t know for sure without cracking open your skull.”

Caesar nodded. “Then get to it.” With that, he moved to lie down on his bed which he now noticed was set up much like a pre-war operating table.

“Yes, Caesar,” he rasped, suddenly dry mouthed.

Well. He hadn’t exactly been expecting that sort of easy acquiescence. Especially not from the man who eschewed weakness and embraced ‘primitive’ medicines. That said, it was an honor, if a dubiously risky honor, to be offered the chance to carve out a mass of cancerous cells in the brain of the beloved leader of the Legion.

No, he wasn’t shaking in his boots, but he was pretty sure that was only because he hadn’t fully come to terms with his impending doom.

So, what, he survived raids and assaults only to die because he was given an impossible task? Even pre-war tumors, especially brain tumors, were notoriously difficult to treat. Success was entirely dependent on where the tumor was located, and he wasn’t so educated to know simply by the symptoms Caesar displayed.

He swallowed thickly, these thoughts racing through his mind as he scrubbed his hands clean and walked over to Caesar.

“Do… Do you have any means of sedation, my lord?”

Caesar leveled him with an unimpressed look. He wasn’t sure whether he was doubting his intelligence or simply disappointed with the fact he stammered. “I’ve taken some medication,” he said. The thick way he spoke confirmed that Caesar had taken Med-X to knock himself out. Possibly too much, if the blown wide pupils were any indication.

He didn’t know what to think about that, so he settled in at Caesar’s head, picked up the scalpel, and counted silently as he waited for Caesar’s breathing to even out and for him to fall asleep.

OH GOD EDIT THIS LATER YOU KNOW NOTHING OF SQUISHY SCIENCES. STICK TO PHYSICS AND PROGRAMMING.

It was relatively routine to slice into Caesar’s skull. He’d done it once when his dog had been beaten by one of his neighbors. Her brain was swelling, so much that her eyes were bugging out and she wobbled around everywhere looking for a place to die. So Damocles had cut into his dog’s skull. The whole time he was petrified of the slightest wrong move, because he’d raised Periwinkle from puppyhood. That dog meant more to him than any two-faced ‘human’ in that entire town. He was, unfortunately, young and inexperienced, and Periwinkle died.

He buried her out back and tended to her grave, fighting off bark scorpions, but he also promised her and himself that he would learn everything he needed to in order to save those he cared about.

It looked like it had paid off, at least, as he removed a portion of Caesar’s skull. For the briefest of moments, he felt the urge to glance up. After a second staring at the exposed brain matter, he looked up and spotted Tacitus.

Or rather, the look on Tacitus’s face.

The man stood very still, inhumanly so, as if not breathing. His eyes were focused and his mouth set in a hard, worried line. His shoulders crept forward, curling his torso.

 _Do it,_ his posture screamed. _Do it now, Damocles. This our only chance. Everything is reliant on you performing this the way is needed._

The weight of expectation tightened his fingers around the scalpel. With a soft inhalation that took with it some measure of strength, Damocles sliced through the meat of Caesar’s brain. It felt wrong, so very, very wrong. He killed Caesar intentionally the way he killed Periwinkle accidentally, and his movements felt heavy with the consequences. Caesar made a choked noise and twitched – post mortem spasms -- before he went completely and utterly still.

Lucius broke rank and rushed up to him. “Caesar is dead at your hands—“

“Caesar died of an inoperable brain tumor,” Damocles snapped. Riding the high of having irrevocably altered the fate of the Legion, he ignored proper protocol and interrupted a superior. “The best doctor, pre-war or current, couldn’t have saved Caesar. His cancer was in its most advanced stage. Frankly he’s – he was – lucky to have survived this long. A man of his age was never going to survive the cranial bleeding inherent to the operation.”

As Damocles spoke, Tacitus approached as well and set his hands firmly on his protégé’s shoulder. With the two of them standing as one, Lucius could only glare at Tacitus. There was some unspoken – more unspoken than usual when Tacitus was concerned – confrontation between the two. Lucius knew just what Damocles had done, but he couldn’t hardly complain, not now that everything was said and done.

As Damocles knew intimately, you couldn’t unslice open someone’s brain. You couldn’t unscramble what had been scrambled.

Speaking of scrambled, he officially swore off scrambled eggs for the memory of killing Caesar.

Lucius clenched his jaw and glanced warily between Tacitus and Damocles.

“I apologize for my rash action,” he said, biting out the words. “I understand fighting and killing. Not. This.”

This seemed to encompass a great deal more than just the attempted surgery. Damocles chose not to comment on that and instead promised himself to ask Tacitus about it later.

“I acted out of grief and loyalty.”

Tacitus waved off the apology, smirking like the cat that ate the canary. It grew, sharper and sharper, until it was practically a slit in his face.

He made a quick slicing motion across his neck, then motioned as if grabbing for a pair of dog tags around his neck. Then raised up his index and middle, similar to the sign for peace, and slotted his thumb between them; he did the same with his other hand then brought them up to his temples before clenching his fist. Damocles recognized the last sign as related to President Kimball and the first as the slaughtering of New California Republic troops.

“Our scouts have reported that the New California Republic’s President Kimball will be visiting the Dam,” Lucius confirmed. The hard look to his eyes just made it all the more obvious how little he approved with the fallout.


	69. Consumimur Igni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Jackie becomes increasingly restless as Emma kills various bark scorpions and rants about the incompetency of the bunker's leadership. Jackie eventually begs to go back to the bunker; she's all but crawling out of her skin. Then, when they arrive back at the bunker, there are paladins there, holding Claud's corpse and threatening to kill the rest of the group. Her narration spots Claud, identifies him, and then stops being coherent. ]]

god!   
i'll never ever know why   
you chose me for your crime  
your foul   
bloody  
crime  
you have murdered me!   
you have murdered me!  
you have murdered me!


	70. Vi Victa Vis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; unfinished chapter. then again, never was planned to be long in the first place]]

After the last Paladin dropped dead, Jackie stood trembling and shaking, ready to fly apart at the seams once more.

Her hands slowly lifted to her face, blocking it from sight, and her shaking redoubled as she dropped to her knees.

It hit him. She was crying. Crying. What could he do? How could he offer any sort of comfort, when the person she loved most in this world was gone? How could he bring himself to move, when he himself felt like the slightest movement would break _him_ apart?

He knew he had to do something to comfort her. But how? His gaze dropped to her trembling shoulders, to the way she curled in on herself, as if looking for physical contact from herself.

 _With a hug, then,_ he decided. He took a step forward and reached out before his brain caught up. _Wait, with what?_


	71. Sum Initium Et Finis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; The strip is rocked when a train blows up, planted by the Legion. Hax is outraged and dedicates himself to fixing this problem too, much to the frustration and dismay of Axel and Crew]]

don't you think it's rather funny  
i should be in this position?  
i'm the one  
who's always been  
so calm so cool


	72. Anakai D'Oude Theoi Makhontai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Hax demands to know where Sixx is, only to be told by Natalie that he, Lucky and Greyson have left on a mission for House. Enraged, he tells her that Sixx needs to stop, now, before he leaves, leaving Natalie confused and sleep drunk. Colten and Natalie, now forced awake, start shooting the shit, reminiscing and playing strip caravan. ]]

i got things you won't believe  
name your pleasure, i will sell  
i can fix your wildest needs  
i got heaven and i got hell


	73. Nervos Belli Arma Infinita

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Their sights are set on the Boomers. Sixx sends Greyson ahead to open the tunnel, relying on his stealth and his lockpicking; Sixx and Lucky rely on stealth boys and luck to follow behind him. They manage not to get blown to pieces and start the task of earning the Boomers' respect. They split Volare into thirds. ]]

and we want you to sleep well tonight  
let the world turn without you tonight


	74. Quid Datur A Divis Felici

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Greyson uses his extensive first aid training to help out Argyle and even offers ghetto'd recipes for home brewed chems. Argyle is Yes. ]]

what you see is what you get  
no one's been disappointed yet  
don't be scared, give me a try  
there is nothing you can't buy


	75. Graviora Manent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Lucky works on fixing up the solar panels (he's a mechanical wizard), Sixx is mentioned going to clear out the ants. After Lucky fixes the panels, Lindsay asks him to look for Mr. Cuddles, and being a sucker for kids he does. He ends up roped into all sorts of games with the kids too, and listens eagerly to Pete's history lesson. ]]

no lyrics this time

i love this title though. it fits. 

incredibly well.


	76. Aien Aristeuein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Hax learns of various ways he can help out and wastes no time in doing so. He renegotiates the food rationing in Freeside before suggesting a formal alliance between the Kings and NCR; he visits Camp McCarran, accepts the bounties on Violet, Driver Nephi and Cook-Cook ]]

surely you're not saying   
we have the resources  
to save the poor from their lot?  
there will be poor always  
pathetically struggling  
look at the good things  
you've got!


	77. Qui Nunc It Per Iter Tenebricosum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Tacitus, Lanius, Lucius, Vulpes and Damocles plot the assassination of President Kimbell; Vulpes and Lanius subtly vie for top dog position and the undercurrent reads that Vulpes is the one who truly holds all the cards. Lanius is the hammer, Vulpes the deft hand. Tacitus, and therefore Damocles, defer to Vulpes in the planning and prefer his style. Lanius pushes the idea of cutting out the Omertas, but Vulpes obviously intends on taking over the legion and, if Lanius refuses to step aside, manipulating the Monster of the East. Tacitus thinks it's brilliant, but ambitious, and wonders if even Vulpes can't pull it off. ]]

in opera you die in act one  
and come back as a ghost   
in act three!


	78. Sentio Et Excrucior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; To everyone's surprise, it's Knox who comforts Jackie. She affects a motherly persona as she coaxes Jackie to let go of Claud's corpse and suggests they bury him in the sand. Jackie slowly comes back to herself and weakly protests that Claud would have wanted to be burned, so they wait until the storm clears and burn his body inside the bunker before leaving. At first, it is suggested they return to Sloan, but Jackie looks nauseated by the idea of staying anywhere in sight of Hidden Valley, so they agree to settle in Novac for the time being. ]]

yeah yeah i switched operas   
sue me  
(actually don't i'm a broke ass)


	79. ¡Les Vale Madres!

Stumbling only slightly -- slightly! He wasn't that drunk -- Axel made his way up stairs. But fuck if it wasn't a trial and a half just to climb the damn things. About halfway between steps he'd lose his balance and have to put his foot down again on the same step, gripping so tightly to the hand railing it was a wonder it didn't bust into a million fucking splinters.

But he made it, finally, and yanked open the hotel room door.

Only to see Marlene with her face buried in some half naked woman's crotch. He couldn't help but take a double glance at the sight of the shorn short black curls, and, yep she was fucking Grace. Not saying a damn word, because like hell he was going to get in the middle of that, he shut the door and leaned against it.

Well that was something to walk in on. He stared at the stairs, bracing himself for the return trip, and with fumbling, staggering steps managed not to trip down them.

He made a quick stop to the bar and demanded a drink. When the Garret didn't immediately comply, he said, "I just walked in on my best friend fucking some new chick," and the other man handed over a bottle of vodka.

"Thanks," he slurred, taking it and handing over the caps, and then stumbled out of the bar. Fuck, he knew Marlene had the hots for Grace, but he hadn't known Grace had them, seriously, for her too. Grace is bi? Fuck, that's a goddamn revelation. One he didn't particularly want to dwell on, so he chased it away with a long, burning pull from the bottle and continued walking.

Other drunks littered the street so he followed their lead and wandered.

It was all going great. Just great. He ran into that ghoul again. "Oh," he hiccuped as he stumbled back. "R-rot. Rogface. Rotface. How the fuck are you?" Nice hat."

The ghoul wore a new hat. At least, one he'd never worn before. It looked a little worn out, but what the fuck didn't nowadays? "Thanks," the ghoul preened. "Bought it off some chump. Hey, looking for more info about Freeside? Still 10 caps for you, my best customer."

A smile dragged across his lips, languid like warm wine. "Sure," he said, tossing the caps his way. "Lay it on me."

"Some traveler passed through here not long ago told everyone he met that there's some kind of plant paradise to the west where food is abundant. No one knows for sure though, cuz everyone who ventures out that way never returns."

Axel blinked as he processed this. Hax would probably shit himself if he heard something like that, even despite or maybe especially because of that last detail. "Thanks, Rottie." He'd have to tell him at some point. Or not, the dick would probably run off and get himself killed.

"Here's another, on the house. You run with the Kings. You know Pacer, right?"

"Yeah," Axel moaned the word. Yeah, he knew Pacer. Knew that the man could drive him fucking wild with just a single smoldering glance, with he way he flicked his comb through his hair.

"Then you know the way he goes stomping around trying to show off," Rotface chuckled. "You're new to Freeside, but this happened a couple months back. No one knows what exactly went down between him and the Van Graffs, but word is they still want him dead."

The thought of the Kings led him to think about Pacer. And, sue him, sex was on his mind because some people didn't feel like putting a damn fucking courtesy sock up when they got down and dirty. "I'm gonna go bag me a King," he decided.

Rotface laughed. As Axel walked away, he heard the ghoul suddenly stop. "Wait, you're serious?" Rotface called after him.

Not gracing that with a response -- mostly because fuck was he drunk, too drunk to walk and talk, but also because fuck him, he'd have mind blowing sex with Pacer. Spite was an excellent motivator. He chucked the now empty bottle into a mailbox and staggered away.

* * *

"Hey Pacer," he drawled as soon as he saw the man.

Fuck, but Pacer hit all the right notes he didn't know he had. Slicked back hair, groomed like it was the end all be all. Black leather and upturned collars. Constant smirk, but then he'd known that he loved a smug bastard.

"Axel," Pacer greeted with that goddamn smirk he loved. "How you been, PALSYNONUME?"

Instead of answering with words because, really, fuck words, they just got in the way, he all but lunged at Pacer and kissed him. Hard.

It was sloppy. It was all teeth biting and tongues fighting. It was fucking glorious. Pacer fit like a puzzle piece. He pulled away to breathe and Pacer gasped, "God damn."

Huskily, he whispered, "I want to fuck you," but he was slurring his words so badly it was a wonder Pacer even understood him. His body probably spoke enough for him though, pressed against him, leaning, hanging. "I'll do you right fucking here, I don't give a shit."

Case in point, sucking face even despite the gaggle of Kings in the lobby.

Pacer laughed, and fuck it was such a beautiful sound, so he captured it and Pacer's mouth. His lips were chapped and he could taste blood mingling with the bitter taste of vodka.

"You're drunk," Pacer said once they broke apart. Axel just laughed.

"And horny," he reminded him. He could feel Pacer's prick through his pants. Fuck, but those tight pants killed him.

Pacer pried Axel off him, hands feverishly warm as they wrapped around his waist to steady him. "Let's get you upstairs," he purred.

Axel made an incoherent moan of agreement and followed Pacer without protest.

Once they were in Pacer's bedroom, he set about pulling off his jacket, only for the king to put his hands on his and stop him.

"The shit, Pacer?" he asked. Eloquent as duck.

"You're sloshed, pal," Pacer told him. "And you're gonna be hurting in the morning. You sit your pretty butt down on that bed, so I can get you some water."

"Pacer," he whined. "I don't wanna."

All the same, he was drunk as fuck and Pacer easily directed him to the bed and tossed him a bottle of water.

"Drink that," he ordered. "Then we're going to bed. To sleep, you horn dog. Maybe in the morning, if you're not puking your guts out."

Grumbling, or at least trying to despite the slur to his words, he untwisted the cap and slowly sipped at it.

"Down it, pretty boy. Or else you aren't getting nothing."

Well that was incentive enough.

* * *

When Axel woke up he had one hell of a migraine and a foul taste in his mouth. "God fucking hell," he croaked.

Wait. Where the fuck was he? He glanced around him. Yeah, he didn't recognize this room at all. His clothing was, well, nearly everywhere. Even his bindings had been removed, which was probably good, maybe very bad. On the one hand, not suffocating in his sleep was good. Avoiding a shameful death was always good. On the other, raising a potential middle fucking finger, was that he was obviously outed to whoever undressed him. And he knew he hadn't undressed himself because all he remembered was--

Drunkenly coming on to Pacer like some sort of needy slut. Shit.

Speak of the devil, the king walked in. "Good, you're up." He smiled.

Well, smiles were good. Meant he was less likely to get beaten to death for being transgender. Probably. He'd met plenty of fuckers who'd smiled while they stabbed you in the back.

Upon noticing the concerned look on Pacer's face, he snapped back to reality. "So," he said, and goddamn his voice was fucking raw. He cleared his threat futilely. "We do the beast with two backs or what?"

"Axel. You're pretty but dumb. If we'd had sex last night, you'd be a lot more sore."

He barked in laughter. "True," he conceded. "Uh. So do I do the walk of shame now?"

"I'll do it with you, sweetheart."


	80. Oblata Arripe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Pearl recognizes what Greyson, Sixx and Lucky have done for the Boomers and grants them permission to help with the Lady in the Lake. Lucky, nerd he is, is estactic to learn and picks Jack and Loyal's brains incessently. He offers a couple interesting suggestions though, so they suffer his rambling. Even if Greyson has a headache building.]]

i've made my peace  
(no chance for peace)  
i hold no grudge  
(i'll end this grudge)


	81. Ceteris Paribus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Hax is assigned by Colonel Moore to erradicate the Khans, one way or another; he attempts a diplomatic approach, but it takes time to build trust. Mostly, he spends his days learning about the Khan's history and helping Diane and Jack brew up chems. A throw away line: that Hax reminds them of someone they knew (and it's implied to be Greyson) ]]

domino i need you now  
look at what i've become  
the nightmare you should fear  
is the man you left alone

((man these don't always even fit, but try paying attention to them either way. it's good music! and can offer some backstory until i finish.)


	82. Inter Rupes Et Lupi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Colten and Natalie have grown antsy and so start mucking about with the casinos. They uncover Cachino's various misdeeds, as well as Sal and Nero's involvement in the Legion's affairs. They break that up right quick.

use your sense  
save your cents  
the only thing with persistence is  
gold  
it makes the world go 'round  
gold   
it makes the world go 'round


	83. Quid Rides?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Pacer did not do anything with Axel while he was drunk; but they still woke up in bed together. Cue quick comedic scene where Axel panics, wondering if he has to worry about pregnancy, and Pacer pointing out that his clothing would be ruined if so. Pacer cooks up (read: burns) scrambled eggs and cram before escorting him back to his hotel room. Then, before they separae, Pacer plants a kiss on Axel. He tries to play it cool, but he is inwardly screaming, especially because at that moment Screwdriver rips open the door, accompanied by Grace. ]]

this scene has been pretty mangled because of previous ones and requires reworking. 

no clue how i'll fix it but whatever


	84. Odium Perditque Perdetur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Next on the agenda is cleaning up the White Glove society; they complete it in favor of no cannibalism, of course, and manage to save Ted Gunerson, mostly thanks to Natalie's acrobatic skills and Colten's hand to hand and melee skills. ]]

chase the morning  
yield for nothing


	85. Estoy Crudo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Jackie is nearly catatonic; Emma feels terribly and irrationally guilty; Vonnegut is lost on how to help; Knox once more shows a shocking degree of emotional intelligence and mediates a conversation between the two, facilitated by copious alcohol and throwing of bottles. It helps that shortly thereafter, she meets Tate, who looks eerily similar to Claud. ]]

i sing sadly  
because i see  
what is happening  
and i  
i am powerless  
blind was I  
without sight  
deaf was I  
without song  
but now I sing and see  
clearly clearly  
i will find my way  
back home  
home.


	86. Nomenque Erit Indelebile Nostrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Lucky, Sixx and Greyson attach the ballast and lift the plane from the water. From there, they return to the Strip to inform House of their progress. Because of various people's meddling, most situations are now delicately balanced if not already toppling pleasingly. All that's needed are the final pushes to cap his plans before he enacts the final stages of his plan. House wants the Brotherhood gone. ]]

let the monster rise


	87. Bella Gerant Alli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Finally Hax makes progress; he convinces Papa to leave, rather than uphold a bogus deal or attempt suicide via New California Republic Ranger. Immediately after, the Legion spy attempts to kill him. Regis, seeing how underwhelming his hand to hand was, offers him free lessons. They help calm Hax down from a maniac to a hyper active worrywort. ]]

i don't want to write this scene any time soon.  
it's a delicate chapter that serves as a fulcrum for a character's development, but i don't really like the character to begin with.

there  
i said it  
i fucking hate hax.


	88. Res Est Solliciti Plena Timoris Amor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Pacer shows he isn't about to let Axel go, Axel asks him to leave though, and Grace watches as Screwdriver and Axel have an argument: it'd be one thing if Axel discussed his attraction to and desire to pursue Pacer, but he didn't and that's what gets Screwdriver's goat. The chapter ends with Axel storming out in a huff and Grace comforting Screwdriver, who worries he's losing Axel. ]]

what is love  
oh baby don't hurt me  
don't hurt me  
no more


	89. Amare Perfectio Legis Est

Damocles approached his mentor, but as the older man’s head was bowed as he meticulously cleaned his weapon, he didn’t say a word. He did have a tendency toward garrulousness, but even he knew when to remain silent. He would make a very poor Frumentarius if he hadn’t already learnt that; not for the first time, he realized yet another reason Caesar had placed him under Tactitus’s tutelage.

After a moment, Tacitus looked up. His brow quirked slightly, the silent question posed obvious. _What do you have to report_ , it asked.

“They travel in a large group, either six or five. The sixth is a young man from the Capital wasteland, James Junior, operating under the pseudonym of Hax Techno. He seems to favor energy weapons, and plasma at that. He also seems to support the New California Republic, but does not seem to be inclined to patriotism or loyalty toward them or their cause. Politics make strange bedfellows, and Junior here has taken that to its next logical conclusion.”

Finished with the machete, now Tacitus began work on the rifle next. He flickered his eyes up, pale blue eyes searching him for further details.

“If we could prove the New California Republic incapable to him, he may step out of the conflict,” Damocles said. “But that’s unlikely, as he traveled from the Capital wasteland to involve himself. He’s a potential threat to us as he is, regardless of whether he is allied with the New California Republic.”

The sharp movement Tacitus made with his left hand spoke volumes. They would not assassinate Hax yet, but would be ready to ensure he didn’t interfere with their plans.

“Next, the woman with long brown hair. Her name is Natalie Crowne and she is a well-known commodity amongst various caravan companies. She is instrumental to the supply routes between the Mojave and the New Canaanites in Zion.”

Tacitus shook his head abruptly, the movements jerky and ragged. _Do not speak of New Canaan_ , it meant. A subtle glance in the direction of Caesar’s tent told the rest of the tale.

Only one possible thing could bring even ever unflappable Tacitus to such a frenzy, and that was the Burned Man, the First Legate, Joshua Graham. The man Caesar was desperate to rid from history.

“Natalie has little combat prowess herself,” he continued, watching Tacitus relax ever so subtly as he did so. “However, she surrounds herself with those who do, and she is quite adept at being where the fight is not. My best suggestion for neutralization would be to separate her from the rest of the group, her bodyguard especially.”

Damocles stepped forward, then sat down across Tacitus when he made no disapproving motions or expressions.

“As for the bodyguard,” he said, relishing the tension he built up in just a couple words. “’He’ is actually a ‘she’. Go figure.”

To his utter amusement, he watched the shock cross Tacitus’s face, enjoying the simple fact that he managed to break through his mentor’s stoicism.

Smiling in satisfaction, he continued, “She sticks closely to Natalie and Greyson, never far, though her friendship with Greyson is obviously newer than the one she has with Natalie. Facing sufficient risk, she may not risk attempting to save Greyson, but I’m certain if we were to capture Natalie, Colten would follow shortly behind. Her weapon expertise ends with melee weapons, but she is incredibly skilled with all sorts: bladed, blunt, heavy, light. She tends to favor a shovel, however, and as you may have noticed she is strong enough to hack off heads.”

Tacitus snapped his fingers and dragged his bent hand down across his front, the sign he’d come to understand as _young_. Directly after, he made an L shape with the thumb and index finger of the same hand. Lucky, then, the very obviously youngest of the group that had proven to be a problem for Caesar.

“Well, his full name is Conrado Isaías Javier de Márquez y Mária del Torre.”

Tacitus made a frown, just thinking about having to spell that out, either on paperwork or with his signs.

“’Lucky’ works well though. The kid’s young, younger than me. I’d say seventeen at most. Inexperienced and only passable with a gun or blade. He is however excellent at repairing nearly anything and, like it or not, he’s good with technology. Fitting, isn’t it?” Damocles twisted his hands together. “Instead of training his body, he learnt how to augment machines, to optimize them to protect him. He reminds me almost of House, if House were much younger and much more desperate for external validation. Separate him from the group, like Natalie, and he will fall apart. He is hardly intractable. We could possibly make use of him, were we to capture him.”

The subtle tilt of his head, the barely there twisting of his mouth, all spoke volumes. Damocles had done well to impress Tacitus. That didn’t stop him from rolling his hand, moving it in a circle in front of his chest, to ask for more information, but the praise had been enough to light a warm fire in his own chest.

"So, next is this Greyson guy, with the ball cap and gray hair--"

Tacitus quirked his brow, as if to say "Really?"

"Yeah, I know," Damocles said. "But he's a slippery sort. Which we knew, but still. He still has a set of legion armor, probably, but we should operate as though we know for certain that he does, for the sake of security. My suggestion is that we ought to institute some sort of password or something similar, preferably on a rotating schedule to prevent additional infiltrations of our ranks. He shouldn't have been able to fool trained legionaries so easy. His last name is Nocturne--"

Another eyebrow lifted.

"I know, I know. Probably not his real last name, but it was changed so long ago no one remembers it, maybe not even him. He’s at least thirty years old, maybe closer to forty, with no surviving relatives. He was born and raised in Freeside, but he's most likely New California Republic. He was seen helping them a number of times, despite him being a local. Just have to figure out why, then, he's hanging around a guy like that courier now."

Tacitus went back to cleaning the rifle, his silence expectant.

"I can't get a read on that bastard," Damocles lamented. "It's like he popped up out of nowhere."

With a clenched jaw, Tacitus met Damocles' gaze, questions roiling in his eyes.

"He's like a ghost! How can I figure out a ghost?"

He sighed, long suffering, and spelled out, "U-L-Y-S-S-E-S."

"Who, or what, the fuck is Ulysses?"

Rolling his eyes, Tacitus first brandished an upside down V with his index and middle fingers. So, Ulysses was a person, at least. Next, he ran a finger down the flat of his palm before bringing together his fists and splitting them. Or rather, dividing them.

"Let me get this straight," he said, bug eyed. "You want me to chase down this Ulysses guy through the Divide just to learn where the courier's parents fucked?"

Tacitus' mouth tilted in the barest of smiles, which meant yes, yes he did, and he found Damocles' reluctance absolutely hilarious.

Scowling, the recruit took his weapons, the machete gleaming and the rifle newly fitted with improved iron sights -- and paused, glancing over thoughtfully at Tacitus. Most recruits as green as he was weren’t even allowed firearms, let alone such a sturdy, dependable one. He'd seen legionaries outfitted with guns that couldn't even be reliably used as a club, as shoddily constructed as they were. Not to mention, the fact the battle for the Hoover Dam could come any day now, and recruit legionaries were placed to the front, where they would wear down the enemy, only to die, arguably inevitably. While Tacitus had been increasingly cagey about their plans, Damocles had gleaned enough to know they intended on neutralizing this group, one way or another, hence his recent string of reconnaissance missions.

He swallowed and almost turned his back to Tacitus, but something kept him rooted in place.

"Thanks," Damocles mumbled.

Softness entered Tacitus’s expression, gaze as warm as he’d ever seen it. Very deliberately, Tacitus brought his fists together in front of his chest, stacking them atop one another, then slowly brought them apart, down and each to their respective sides. _Safe_ , the sign said. _Stay safe_.

He swallowed again. Suddenly, his eyes burned and his throat felt far too tight, like his emotions had grown thorny vines. Damocles switched hold his rifle in his right hand and brought his left to his cheekbone, his index and middle fingers splayed and the rest curled loosely. Locking eyes with his mentor, he brought the hand down slowly, flicking his fingers to point at Tacitus. See you later, this sign said. Not goodbye, not farewell, but see you later. It was only when Tacitus glanced over to his hand that he realized it was trembling. He couldn’t hide it, not after it’d already been noticed, but he settled his hand on the barrel of the rifle and gripped it tightly.

Without looking back or another word shared between them, he left.


	90. Saepe Diuque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; very incomplete chapter. The group are settling in to Novac as best they can after having lost one of their member. Show Jackie grieving and Von helping best he can. They make friends with the natives. Tate has taken over for Jeannie May and Boone and Manny are reconciling, somewhat. At least they're trying. Chris and Knox get along surprisingly well, both surly but genuinely enjoying each other's company ]]

“I don’t recognize myself in the mirror,” Jackie whispered. “I look back at myself and it’s, it’s not me. Because Jackie is Claud’s twin. I’ve lived my life in respect to him. We are two halves of the same whole. How can I move on when I’m falling into the gaping hole he left in me?”


	91. Sunt Superis Sua Iura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Tacitus leads the ambush on Sixx and crew on their way to Hidden Valley. It's a long battle, mostly high ranking members, and both sides take heavy injuries. Tacitus breaks a couple ribs blocking Colten's attacks. Sixx remains mostly unharmed. Greyson and Lucky were both shot and require medical attention. Colten has a concussion. Natalie gets a shotgun blast to the chest and neck region, almost an instant kill. Sixx has them retreat and Tacitus doesn't have them follow, instead content with the injuries they inflicted and the knowledge the BoS will finish the job. He leaves to report back to Vulpes and suggest they continue with the plan]]

but i didn't know i'd love you so much

i didn't know i'd love you so much

i didn't know i'd love you so much

but i do


	92. Factum Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Colten accompanies Sixx as he jumps through the BoS's hoops in order to get medical supplies and attention for Greyson and Lucky. Colten is foggy and detached, still trying to process her grief, and so is caught completely by surprise when, after the BoS hands over medical supplies and provides emergency first aid, Sixx goes around plucking the ID cards off everyone. She inwardly freaks out, because she doesn't trust Sixx as far as she could throw him. Colten sneaks them out at night once they are stable, taking them to Sloan to finish their recuperation. She returns to Hidden Valley just in time to witness Sixx walking away from the exploding bunker with a self satisfied smirk on his face; she runs like hell ]]

if you haven't noticed  
this is long as fuck


	93. Sed Ad Gratiam Dei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Hax reports to the New California Republic base and is told to head to the Dam to help prepare. It's not said whether the President is definitely going to arrive, but it's said that he will be a valuable asset, perhaps even amping up production. ]]

if you noticed i write "New California Republic" frequently, it's because when i was rushing, i kept messing up my acronyms  
mcr  
mrcr  
nrc  
mrc  
etc.   
not that last one, thats just an abbreviation  
fuck i'm also very drunk


	94. Cui Bono?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; unfinished chapter. like. all but. Sixx strolls in while she's trying to convince Victor to let her upstairs; he smirks as he passes her to speak with House. She packs up hers and Greyson's stuff and Natalie's effects and heads out for Sloan. ]]

“Victor, please,” she begged. “Trust me! I need to speak to Mr. House.”

“Sorry there, partner,” he responded, not sounding at all apologetic. “Ain’t nobody can see Mr. House but the courier.”


	95. Dulce Est Desipere In Loco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; unfinished. Grace absolutely loves rum, but vodka will do in a pinch. Marlene points out vodka and rum do not taste even remotely similar. Then proceeds to pour a bunch of agave nectar and mutfruit juice into her bottle. Grace is not happy with Marlene ruining fine liquor: “That is absolutely disgusting. You’re lucky you’re cute.” Marlene flirts, “You just think that because you’ve downed half the bottle already. Everyone’s cute now.” “I don’t think so. You’ve always been cute.”]]

“Tell me,” Marlene slurred. “Are you and Screwdriver screwing? Or is he doing Axel? Or Steve?”

Grace giggled. “Not quite. It, hic, it used to be that it was me and Screwdriver, because we were just so close, it just kind of, hic, happened.”

Marlene nodded. She could definitely understand that. Her attraction to Briana hadn’t been planned, hadn’t really come out of anywhere, but by the time she realized, or maybe acknowledged, her feelings they’d already taken root.

“Then, then we met Steve. And, so, I, hic, I knew from day one that they liked each other. You couldn’t, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“He still loved me,” she said simply. “He just also loved Steve.”

“Olyamora or something like that, right?”

“Poloamory? I don’t know. Axel would know the word better, if there is.”

“And Axel then?”

“Oh, Axel fell for Screwdriver and Steve immediately. Like. I don’t believe in love at first sight. But. Axel maybe? I could see him falling in love right there. Because every time they got closer, he just fell deeper. It was fun to watch, speci—‘specially since he was trying to act all macho and, and, and he thought he was broken for loving the both of them.”

Marlene crawled forward until she straddled Grace, arms planted on either side of Grace. “What I’m gathering,” she slurred, “is that if I said I liked you. You wouldn’t say no just because of Screwdriver.”

She strained her neck, reaching up like a snake to capture Marlene’s mouth. They were both too drunk to kiss with any sort of skill, but it was all teeth and tongue and passion, and for Marlene that was more than she’d thought she’d ever dreamed of.

Marlene discusses her time in Little Lamplight, her first taste of strange meat as she was tending to the cave fungus; her brief time in Big Town with Pappy before she fled in hopes of finding someone else to understand her cravings. She found the Family and took to Vance’s teachings because she didn’t want to murder because she had inhuman, incontrollable urges. She was more than an animal. She would be, if she wasn’t already. 

Grace was born to enslaved parents and sold young to work in the Pitt. She details how terrified she was of the trogs, but that she also came to enjoy it, despite the horrible conditions, because there was one slaver who treated her like a human being. When a new slave came (heavily implied to be Hax) and shook things up, she and Srewdriver escaped back to the Capital wasteland, where they met Steve.

Steve pokes his head in here, hearing his name, then demands his own bottle if he’s gonna crash story time. He tells the story about how a barely coherent Screwdriver (heat stroke) demanded Steve give Grace some water, damn it, before he blew out his brains. Steve admitted that he respected anyone who would forgo his own needs for the sake of someone he loved, and likewise could only respect a woman, obviously an ex-slave, who still had a backbone of steel to her.

Steve tells about how he forced his remaining raiders not to harm a hair on their heads and, when his people got sick of waiting around, fled with Grace and Screwdriver. They were taken in by Axel, in exchange for a shit ton of chems, and while they healed they all became good friends. How very story book.

 


	96. Aut Cum Scuto Aut In Scuto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[note; Lucky makes his way to the Lucky 38, despite Colten saying he shouldn't, and meets up with Sixx as he walks in. Apparently Sixx just got through raiding the El Dorado Substation and is about to head out for Novac and then the Hoover Dam, with the intent of grabbing Boone. Knox, Von and Jackie all make cameos ]]

don't no one get their pants in a twist it's latin


	97. Pandate Regi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Sixx stations Boone on a tower overlooking the President's helipad, with orders to shoot anyone who so much as looks at the chopper wrong; Lucky is sent into the crowd. Hax watches all of this with vague concern, wondering how someone like Sixx and by extension House knew that the President was due to arrive. Hax shakes off his unease and investigates the missing engineer at the behest of the engineer's concerned friend. His preparations include a covert warning system to tell the president where to stand and not stand and a natural looking blockage on the stage (to the tower). He's standing in the crowd as well when he spots the sniper on the tower and manages to covertly order the president to step out of line of sight of the sniper, giving him just enough time to take down the sniper on the tower. As he's coming down the stairs, he sees Lucky knock out another Legion infiltrator in the crowd, which causes the whole crowd to panic. In the panic, despite the New California Republic trying to imprison the spy, someone (Tacitus) stabs the failed assassin and disappears. ]]

all hail. all hail.


	98. Amor Cedit Et Vincetur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; After another week, Greyson is healed enough to travel again and suggests they head to Zion, considering Nat is dead and the Mojave holds no appeal to either of them anymore. Colten agrees readily and as they begin their travel North, she and Greyson both discuss Zion, what Colten remembers and what she's eager to show him. Greyson notes (but doesn't say) that she is obviously smitten with Joshua. In the distance, they hear the sounds of battle coming from Hoover Dam, as well as a Vertibird flying overhead. ]]

vertibird goes whoosh.


	99. Caedenis Cernere Est Difficilis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; Battle of Hoover Dam. Lucky and Sixx fight their way through the Dam, helping no one besides themselves. They see Hax fighting with the New California Republic and taking a serious wound, and Tactius with the Legion. They make it all the way to Legate Lanius. ]]

man i am PISSED i never got around to writing the actual climax

heh get it 

i didn't get to reach my climax

hur hur i'm hilarious


	100. Jus Nefasque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; When the riots start, when the Securitrons roll into Freeside looking to destroy the Kings for their alliance with the New California Republic, Screwdriver only knows Axel is outside. He races through the streets in search of Axel. ]]

god i put this one off intentionally

bunch of assholes or not, i love this group and i hate what i've planned for them

i mean, i love it

as an author

but as a human being no

i feel vile, and it only gets worse.


	101. ¡Aguas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; attack on novac]]

lots of things happen. commie ghosts who don't know they're ghosts make a reappearance.


	102. Tarde Quae Credita Laedunt Credimus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[notes; basically only have scenes done for this one. it's a hard one. lucky is my precious cinnamon roll. so.  
> Lucky and Sixx defeat Legate Lanius; Tacitus stays behind and is injured and taken captive by New California Republic Rangers; Sixx pisses off General Oliver then uses Lucky as a human shield. ]]

"Children shouldn't play with guns," General Oliver sneered. “I know you’re riding high, but you’re outnumbered and outmatched.”

Lucky adjusted his grip so it pointed more obviously to the dead center of the general’s chest. "Who said I was playing?" he demanded.

* * *

 

The general fired and—hands grabbed him, pulled him close, into the line of fire. Pain exploded in his chest.

Weakly, he tried to glance back, but his lungs were filling too quickly, his vision was darkening too quickly. He wasn’t too far gone to miss the fact that Sixx had used him as a human shield. Sixx chucked him to the ground. Dirt ground into his face.

“You bastard!” General Oliver cried, right before his words cut off with a wet gurgle.

Tears built in his eyes, and it wasn’t entirely due to the sand. He forced himself to look up, to blink away the worst of the tears and darkness, and he found Sixx’s eyes. Found his mouth.

Sixx was smiling. That same broad, glowing smile he’d first seen in Goodsprings all those months ago. The smile Sixx had given before he went and blew out Joe Cobb’s brains. It was feral.

Lucky sobbed into the sand.

* * *

* * *

 

 also, yes. that is where the chapter ends. with lucky face down in the dirt. trying to say it doesn't hurt. that sixx didn't mean it. that sixx wouldn't do that to him.


	103. Thanatos Ouden Diapherei Tou Zen

There was a place where old pre-war vehicles attempted to close off a narrow passageway connecting the Mojave and a wasteland even more vicious and lethal. It sat to the far west, nestled between mountains that shaded an abandoned campground and a settlement all but abandoned. A man covered in blood, both his own and others’, sat at the base of one half of the ravine. The blood was long past dried, from wounds and exploits days old. His head hung down, chin resting against his chest, and even now he clung to a combat knife bloodier than he was.

Beyond the haphazard construct waited the Divide, where no one who entered exited the same. Beyond the gates made of old world steel, a civilization had been ripped in two, blown off the map by a courier who perhaps knew intimately the devastation his package carried. Silos and war heads dotted the remains of the landscape, probing the dirty skies like nuclear skyscrapers, or simply giants who didn’t understand that their time had long passed. Men who were once enemies were mutated into allies. Creatures beyond the pale of anything the Mojave could offer threatened every step of the way through the irradiated land.

A young man staggered from the Divide, wearing a leather duster and a gas mask. On the back of the duster, a red bull was emblazoned into the leather; under the gas mask, which was promptly tossed to the ground, the man’s face was the sun worn and wind weathered. Above all, he collapsed to his knees and stared up at the sky, as if amazed by the colors, or perhaps the clarity, without the remains of nuclear bombs clogging it.

Even despite this, he retained his death grip on a dirty, bloodied machete, one well worn and well used.

He opened his mouth, but no words came. He shut his eyes, and tears slowly trickled down, hot and clearing away the grime on his cheeks. The man crawled on his hands and knees, dragging the machete along with and abandoning the mask, to the figure sat by the gate. The man who had waited for him.

He fell further, further than he had his entire journey, to collapse completely into the sand.


	104. Omnium Rerum Termini Parva Sunt

Steve sat at his friend’s cot with his head bowed. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t crying, because the pain in his chest seemed like it would go away if only he would, but regardless no tears fell.

Everything was falling apart in the wake of the dam.

His best friend was slated for a shallow grave. The Followers had far too many problems hitting them at once, not least of which the flood of injured following the battle on the dam, and he wasn’t sure this little operation could keep itself afloat much longer. The bags under Julie Farkas’s eyes told him he was right, and the worsening pallor of his best friend told him he was right about that too.

The one thing he could say about House was that the man – was he though? – kept his promises. He’d promised that he would control the Strip _and_ Freeside, damn anyone else, and he had certainly taken over. His throat hurt just trying to breathe around the sudden swell of tears. Yes, House had taken over, and killed so many to do so.

The entirety of the Kings, slaughtered. Any lingering New California Republic troops, peppered full of holes both from laser rifles and 5mm bullets. Any New California Republic citizen or even Local who dared oppose him, blasted apart by grenades. He twisted his fingers through his hair and tugged.

“Damn you,” he hissed, not quite sure to whom he was speaking. To House, for letting his securitrons run loose? Or to Axel, for running away to hide out at the King’s School instead of confronting the issues between him and Screwdriver? Or to Hax, for disregarding his own safety so many times Steve had lost count and yet still preventing him from being desensitized to the idea of losing him? Or Sixx, that damn courier who strolled the streets with smiles sharper than any blade he’d ever seen?

No, yeah, it was definitely that last one. Sixx carried himself like the raider Steve used to be, only so much worse, because even when he’d dared look in the mirror at his worst, Steve could see a human being in his eyes. Sixx was all laughter and jokes and smiles and poison dripping sweetly from upturned lips.

Sixx had been at the heart of this whole mess since the very beginning. Hatred built up in his chest, built and built, like a dam ready to burst.

“Fucking piece of fucking shit,” he snarled.  “Dumb ass. We’re going to go back. To the Capital. The four of—the four—“ he choked on the words, unable to help himself, and suddenly the tears came. “You goddamn fucking _idiot_.”

Scrubbing away burning tears, he leapt to his feet and stormed out of the tent, pushing past a blonde doctor and knocking him on his ass. Steve couldn’t care less. He ran off without so much as an apology, because there wasn’t a single damn thing an apology could fix.


	105. Ubi Solitudinem Faciunt...

Emma and Vonnegut returned to the Capital wasteland. Emma to return to her charter, because as much as things had been turned on their heads, she still had an obligation to her previous life; Vonnegut, because he was still a ghoul lost in time and Emma was the closest he had come to a tether to the present.

Knox and Jackie stayed in the Mojave. Jackie couldn’t leave the land that had taken her brother, no matter whether it hurt her heart and soul to stay. She wasn’t sure why Knox stayed, but she found herself immensely grateful. She never said so in as many words, but she knew that she was understood regardless.

They all kept in contact through couriers. Not a day went by without Jackie checking the drop box, or dropping off her own letter. It wasn’t quite as intimate as it had been, where they’d been able to read each other’s body language, but it was almost good enough.

Perhaps it was ironic, or merely fate, that it was a courier who ripped apart the Mojave and pieced it back together and a courier who ensured Jackie didn’t lose Von and Emma too. Unfortunately, between the four of them they had varying levels of literacy, but they each did the best they could and no one dared make any sort of comment, light-hearted or otherwise, concerning this. It was never explicitly agreed on, but they’d all come to that tacit agreement.

* * *

 

Living in Underw _O_ rld trEats mE wEll. SpEnd m _O_ st _O_ f my days scavEnging with Will _O_ w and trading thE ExcEss t _O_ thE CitadEl. SpEnd a fair bit _O_ f my caps in thE Ninth CirclE. It’s a bar, d _O_ wn hErE in UndErw _O_ rld, run by a slEazy gh _O_ ul wh _O_ makEs what’s lEft _O_ f my skin crawl. His pricEs arE chEap, h _O_ wEvEr, and thErE’s thE mattEr _O_ f thE b _O_ uncEr. Char _O_ n. DoEsn’t talk much, that _O_ nE, but y _O_ u rEmEmbEr mE, I’ll talk En _O_ ugh f _O_ r thE tw _O_ _O_ f us. SpEaking _O_ f, h _O_ w arE y _O_ u all d _O_ ing?

_I never new you were the bleeding hart type Vonegutt. Good luck in your persoot of ghoul bootie.  
_ _Im good, things are good heer. Sentinle Sara Lyons finale woke up from her comma. Elder Lyons acts liek he innit over exited but every wun can see it. I am now Knight Sargeant and sinse Paradice fals still opperates, Im to clear them owt. Coold use you guys by my side hah._

CONGRADS ABOUT THE PROMOTION, YOU WILL BE FINE. KEP YOUR HEAD CLEAR LIKE WE KNOW YOU CAN AND YOU’LL DO GREAT.   
HUH. THOUGHT UNDERWORLD WUZ JUST A MYTH. WE ARE STILL IN NOVAC. WITHOUT THE GHOULS AND NIGHTKIN FITING OVER THE REPCONN ~~PLACE~~ TEST SITE ITS REALY FLOURISHED. NOVAC THAT IS. PLENTY OF NEW FACES. THERES A GHOUL WITH A NAME LIKE YOURS VON, CALLS HERSELF KAFKA.

i miss you all a lot. it wouldnt be stupid to visit would it? there is the distence but … we all ready did it once. why not again?

VEry goOd pOint, JackiE. WhO says wE must rEmain sEparatE, that wE can’t attEmpt t _O_ intEgratE OnE an _O_ thEr int _O_ Each OthEr’s livEs? Als _O_ , it has bEEn sOmE timE since _O_ ur last c _O_ rrEsp _O_ ndancE . W _O_ uld it bE inappr _O_ priatE tO bring alOng a c _O_ mpani _O_ n?

SAY THAT AGAIN FOR THE REST OF US IN THE BACK. SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY, LOTS OF RAIDER ACTIVITY FOR A COUPLE DAYS. THE LAST BITS FROM VAULT 3 AND ALL.

_Von’s just agreing, says we may as well try. I think it woold be nise to meet this Charon guy. That is who your bringin rite? I am coming to the end of Oparation: Paradice Fallin, mostly sucsessful and no casallties. Yology is a tricky bastard. I can be able to leave in a week tho._

checked with cliff. he is happy to set you all up with rooms. when ever you arrive the rooms are here and so are knox and i.

SEE YOU GUYS SOON.


	106. Et Pacem Appellant

Zion was nothing like Greyson had expected. Growing up in a world where plants bore thorns and water flowed from rusty taps and burst pipes, he had no chance of imagining the land that had so taken his companion’s heart.

It was gorgeous. Night fell and day rose just as it had in the Mojave, but it was a wild thing, untamed. Even the furthest stretches of the wasteland couldn’t compare to the purity found in Zion. It was nature, distilled.

There wasn't much alcohol to be had in Zion, and what there was was set aside for emergency wound cleaning. As beautiful as Zion was, the forced abstinence from alcohol was a drawback. The first week, he went through his entire stash and then his stash of fixer in short order because he started shaking and passing out. It was a wake up call to be sure, but one he hadn't wanted. The nights were still long here in Zion, filled with memories and lingering sensation of bomb collars, and added to the army of ghosts was the Legion assault that took his goddamn eye.

It was an adjustment, learning to navigate while half blind. He knew he was lucky to be alive and should therefore count his blessings, but it seemed everything and everyone crept up on him from his right side. He didn't know if it would have helped or hurt if they didn't from the start, but he adjusted as rapidly as he could. He kept his blindside to a wall or fixture whenever he could and an exit in sight of his left eye. His posture and gait changed, but maybe, in addition to that, it grew lighter. Even if only somewhat.

His shotgun remained clean but also remained unfired in the corner of the caves. Likewise, her shovel sat neglected. She had no head for language and he was a terrible student, but they had excellent teachers in the tribals and the missionaries, and soon they understood their language. Greyson, in turn, taught all he knew about chems and survival, anything to balance the kindness shown to them.

As time went on, as the months stretched out between them and Natalie’s death, he watched as the young, scared and broken woman he’d met ages ago disappeared, melting away under clear skies colored all shades of red, orange and blue, into the crystal waters, into the warm winds that wound through ravines and between cliffs. He smiled as she reached out for companionship from those around her, exposed her vulnerability.

Joshua probably knew that Greyson had nothing on the countless Frumentarii and Legion assassins Caesar had sent to kill the so called Burned Man, but Greyson thought perhaps he was understood. To toy with Colten’s heart would be to sign a death warrant; either his own, or Greyson’s, because the man refused to sit idly by and allow any further harm to come to her.

Brief comments, both idle and in the midst of deep conversation, both before they left the Mojave and after, had led him to assume some sort of relationship between Joshua and Colten. He watched as it grew in spurts, between days spent tracking wild geckos and nights spent around a fire with only soft words to string between them.

It was hardly perfect, and they still held the hurt deep in their hearts from losing Natalie, but they were building themselves a new life, and Greyson accepted that as enough for the moment.

They weren’t the only ones to flee the Mojave. He kept his distance from the two, mostly because they seemed to desire nothing else, but he still noticed things. Brief moments of tenderness between the two, the woman and man both hesitant, as if navigating a shared history of which neither was proud but couldn’t erase. Abrupt snaps and comments and fights as they tore away at each other, always followed by the two coming back together with their heads bowed and tails between their legs. They weren’t quite in love, but they were getting there.

Greyson wondered how healthy it was, how sustainable their relationship was, but he was hardly going to interfere. There was too little room for happiness in their world. Every bit of it had to be cherished and nurtured.

No matter the form it took.


	107. Egressus Sum

And so it ends.

And yet, it never changes. War never changes.


	108. [[this chapter will be deleted later]]

the rest of my words were, unfortunately, hand written. as such i will add to it later. when my back isn't screaming and, again, i can look at this project without wanting to smash my computer.


End file.
